Truth or Dare
by ICanStopAnytime
Summary: Carol and Daryl grow closer on a run for formula, but when the prison is lost, a wedge is driven between them, and they begin to drift apart. Will they be able to renew their relationship in the Kingdom?
1. A Surprise in Daryl's Wallet

Carol swung open the chain link fence of the prison so Daryl could roar in on his motorcycle. He looked so relaxed on that iron horse. Michonne sat behind him, her arms wrapped casually around his waist, her knees against his hips. For a brief moment, Carol envied her.

The bike vroomed to a sudden stop, purred, and sputtered off. With booted heel, Daryl kicked out his stand and let the bike fall to a prop on its side. Michonne slid off from behind him, and then he followed.

"Any luck?" Carol asked.

"Trail's gone cold," Daryl told her.

"I want to keep looking," Michonne said. "Regroup for a couple of days, then head out again."

Daryl shook his head. "I'm tellin' ya, ain't no point."

"Fine. I'll go by myself." Michonne strutted away.

"Don't be like that," Daryl called after her.

She turned slowly. "He's planning his revenge, and he has to be stopped."

"Who knows if he's even alive," Daryl said.

"I'm going back out tomorrow. If you're done, you're done, but I'm going back out."

Daryl sighed. "I would. But ain't no point. Got other shit to do. Got to hunt. Scavenge. We got a whole lot of people to feed now."

Michonne, looking peeved, replied, "I'm still going."

Daryl shifted on his feet. "When will you be back?"

Michonne shrugged in that can't-be-bothered way of hers. "When I get back. A few days. A week. Two weeks. I don't know." She turned and walked away.

Daryl watched her leave and sighed. "I'd go if I thought there was any real chance of finding him."

"I know you would," Carol said.

"Wish she wasn't pissed off at me 'bout it."

"She'll get it over it," Carol assured him.

Zach walked by them on his way out to work in the cropland and pointed a finger at Daryl as he passed. "High school football coach," he said. "I bet you could yell real good. Really put the fear of God into those players."

"Nah, man. I ain't never even _played_ high school football."

"I'm almost there," Zach insisted as he walked away, shaking his head.

"Is he still trying to guess what you did for a living?" Carol asked him.

Daryl nodded.

"Listen," Carol told him, "I'm sorry to make you turn around and go back out right away, but after you have some lunch, we need to go find some more formula for Judith. We're running low again. We probably have a week's worth, but I figure we better go now, in case it takes a while to find some."

"Ya comin' with?"

"I'm bored."

"A'right." He sniffed the air. "What ya got cookin' for lunch?"

"Nothing you can smell from here. But you'll like it, I promise."

Daryl did like it. He murmured and hummed while he ate, and then he licked every one of his fingers clean. Carol didn't know why, but she couldn't help but watch him whenever he did that. It was a disgusting, unmannered habit, but it sent a little shiver through her. She found her mind drifting, against her will, to thoughts of what it might feel like if it was some part of _her_ he was licking and sucking instead.

After lunch, Carol crammed a change of clothes, a hammer, nails, a first aid kid, and some snacks into her backpack. They might return from their run this evening, but you never knew where or why you might end up having to spend the night.

Daryl met her near the vehicles. As they neared his motorcycle, she found herself looking forward to slipping her arms around him, spreading her legs behind him, and pressing them to his as they rode. It was a strange thought for her. Carol hadn't experienced physical feeling for a real-life man in years. She'd shut that part of herself off at some point during her marriage to Ed. But now she might feel a genuine urge to touch, or a titillating tingling, several times a day. This sexual reawakening was vaguely bothersome, especially in the midst of an apocalypse when her mind needed to be focused on survival, but she couldn't control it, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. Clamping down on it would be like crushing beneath her heel a single flower that had begun to bloom in a dark and barren field. Daryl was not the only man around whom she felt these urges, but he was the one who inspired them most often.

Carol didn't _expect_ anything to happen with Daryl, but she did _think_ about it on occasion. She thought maybe he loved her, but in the way a man loved his big sister or his best friend. Carol didn't think Daryl wanted to take her to bed. _Michonne_ , maybe, but not her. And, who knew, maybe he _had_ taken Michonne to bed already, one of those many nights they were alone together, following the Governor's trail. Maybe something had happened between them out there, and maybe that was why Michonne was really pissed off at his reluctance to keep looking with her.

"Nah," Daryl said, and for a startling second she thought he'd read her thoughts. But he was just following her gaze as she looked at his bike. "Better take one of the cars, case'n we find a big haul of shit."

Carol knew he was right, but it was with a heavy step that she turned and walked toward the sedan. "I kind of wanted to feel the wind in my hair."

"What hair?" he asked.

"Thanks a lot."

"Ain't an insult. Just meant it's short is all." He opened the passenger's side of the car and just held it open, like he wasn't getting in.

It took Carol a moment to realize he was holding it for her. "Well aren't you a gentleman," she said as she slid inside.

"I told you it weren't an insult!" He shut the door with a clang.

When he got in the driver side, she said, "I meant holding the door open for me. Although I'm fully capable of doing it for myself."

"Ya are? Never would have guessed by the way you shot that three inch group last week." He shut his door and cranked the engine. "I really ain't insultin' ya. And I like yer hair. Like the color."

"Really? It doesn't make me look old?"

"Pffft..." The brownish-red sedan crunched over the gravel as he began driving. "Ya ain't old."

"I'm not as young as Michonne."

He shot her a puzzled look as Carl Grimes shut the fence behind them. "How old are ya?"

"How old do you think I am?" Carol asked.

"I ain't dumb enough to play _that_ game."

"How old are _you_?" asked Carol as she checked her rifle to make sure it was cocked and loaded and ready to go should they run into a herd of walkers or any unfriendly people.

"Dunno. Don't keep track. Ain't exactly ever had anyone bake me a birthday cake."

"Never?" His revelation truck her as terribly sad.

"Nah. Never." He gunned the engine and swerved around a walker before hitting the paved road and slowing down again.

"Well, when's your birthday? I'll make you a cake. Or something. Whatever I can manage to put together with what we have."

"In that case, it's whenever we get back from this run."

She chuckled. "When is it really?"

"Dunno."

"Don't know!" she said. "What do you mean, you don't know?" She reached right into his back pants pocket and pulled out his wallet.

"What do ya think yer doin'?"

"Looking for your driver's licenses." Carol flipped open the black leather wallet

"Ain't got one. What the hell do I need it for? Think Sheriff Grimes is gonna write me a ticket? Give it back!" He grabbed for the wallet, but she pulled it away, laughing.

She didn't find a driver's license, but she found a condom. When she held up the foil package, he turned a shade of red she did not think it was possible for a human being to turn. She laughed, but then she felt suddenly sick to her stomach and shoved the condom back in his wallet. Had that been for Michonne? Why only _one_? Was it because he had no real hopes of getting laid, or because he'd used up several already?

As she began to close the wallet, a loose photograph fluttered out and landed between her feet. Carol looked down at the young, beautiful, blonde woman with blue-gray eyes. When she recovered the photo, Carol observed that the young woman wore a white cowgirl hat, a pink, spaghetti string tank top, and cut-off blue jeans. "Who is it?"

The girl seemed too young for him, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two, but if the photo had been taken a few years ago, and if Daryl liked women who were a few years younger, it was possible this woman had once been his girlfriend. Possible - and yet, the very idea that Daryl might have had a girlfriend before the Outbreak - someone he'd lost to the disease - maybe even someone he'd been forced to put down - had never occurred to her before this moment.

"Yer nosy as hell, ya know that!"

"Sorry," she apologized, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with guilt and wishing she hadn't teasingly grabbed that wallet. She hadn't really expected to find anything in it but his license and maybe some scraps of paper with a list for the supply run. After sliding the photograph back inside, she closed up the wallet and handed it back to him. The black leather was well worn and warm to the touch. The wallet just _felt_ like it belonged to Daryl.

Daryl grabbed it, shoved it in his back pocket, and glared at her. Carol wished she could take it all back, make friends again. She _needed_ his friendship. Sometimes it felt like his friendship was all she had in this world. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I was just teasing, and I took it too far. I really didn't mean to upset you."

His jaw set tightly, Daryl stared out the windshield. He'd driven silently for several minutes when he said, "It's a'right. I ain't mad at ya. It's just...ya can really stick in my craw sometimes, ya know?"

"I know," Carol said softly, and she turned and looked out the passenger's side window.

"Ain't personal," he said. "Everyone does. You less'n most."

"Really? Sometimes I think I _stick in your craw_ more than most."

"Nah. Ya just hang 'round me more than most. Hell, most people don't even talk to me less'n they _have_ to. Ya know, for business reasons."

She smiled. "Well, they're really missing out, because you can be fun to talk to."

"Pffft."

"I _like_ talking to you."

If he hadn't smiled, and then bit down on his bottom lip to hide that smile, she wouldn't know her words had pleased him.

"Is that a strip mall down that road?" she asked.

Daryl leaned forward, peered through the windshield, and made a sharp left.


	2. Breathe, Woman

_**A/N:**_ _Thank you to those who have commented so far! Reviews are the fuel of fanfic writers, so please do comment. We will be getting to the truth or dare game in a couple of chapters..._

[*]

A walker stumbled down over the curb that led to the parking lot and lurched toward them. "Let me get it," Carol insisted. "I need the practice."

"Be my guest," Daryl muttered, though he didn't lower his crossbow just yet.

Carol left her rifle hanging on her shoulder, unsheathed her knife, took two steps forward, and drove the blade into the approaching walker's forehead. She twisted and then yanked the knife back out. The creature crumpled to the ground. Daryl lowered his crossbow as Carol wiped her knife on a discolored white cloth she kept in her coat pocket. He nodded toward the Rite Aid. "Drug store's our best bet." There wasn't much else worth investigating at the tiny strip mall: a Hallmark, a Tae Kwon Do school, a shipping and supply store, a check cashing place, and a small, local doughnut shop that appeared to be thoroughly emptied.

They crawled through the smashed, front window of the Rite Aid, over the bricks that had been thrown by looters. Several dead walkers lay on the ground, and a few of the shelves had been toppled over. The pharmacy was completely cleaned out, and there wasn't much left in the rest of the store either: magazines, laundry detergent, and misshapen candles that had clearly melted last summer and re-solidified in the winter. No food and no formula. On the way out, Carol grabbed a Georgia street map from a toppled stand and a Yellow Pages directory from a stack on the front counter.

As Daryl started the car, she began to flip through the phone book. "Never thought I'd use one of these again after we got Internet." She tried to picture Daryl sending an e-mail and laughed.

"What's so funny?" he asked as he pulled the sedan out of the parking lot, the front tire crunching over the hand of a fallen walker.

"Did you have an e-mail account? Before all this?"

"Sure. SexyDaryl43 at A-O-L dot com."

Carol laughed. "I'm guessing you didn't even have a computer. Or a smartphone." His silence confirmed her assumption. She turned to the G's to locate the nearest grocery store. "For years, Ed wouldn't get the Internet. When he finally did, he put tracking software on the computer so he could monitor all my activity."

Daryl's eyes flashed with anger, as they usually did when she mentioned Ed. "Look for daycare centers," he told her. "That's where I found formula last time. Ain't as likely to have been picked over."

She flipped back to the D's. Using the directory and the map, Carol navigated him to a daycare center. The door was locked, so they busted a window with a nearby rock. Daryl yanked the red rag from his back pocket, wrapped it around his hand to protect the skin, and brushed the glass away. He crawled through first and then helped Carol through. Her hand slid comfortably into his as she stepped down and in. Glass crunched beneath her boots as she hit the floor.

They could hear the sound of scurrying behind closed doors, and the gnashing of hungry walkers, as they walked cautiously down the hall, gun and crossbow readied. Carol shined the flashlight attached to her scope in the darkened interior hall, which had no windows. The beam of light caressed innocent drawings of smiling stick figure families as the pair made their way toward a door marked "0-8 months."

Hungry groaning from a connecting hallway caused them to whirl before they reached the room. Coming toward them was a lurching classroom full of walker children, probably from some after-school program. The changed children weren't all that much younger than her own Sophia. One wore a tattered, pink shirt that depicted a swarm of butterflies - the very same shirt Carol had once given Sophia for her tenth birthday. The rifle trembled in her hand. A terrible sob tore its way up from her gut and poured out of her mouth. She couldn't shoot.

With a whiz and a thunk, an arrow from Daryl's crossbow lodged in the head of the nearest walker. He left his arrow behind, wrapped an arm around Carol's waist, and dragged her toward the front door. With the walkers on their heels, he unlocked it and pushed her out into the startling daylight. She was still blinking against the blinding light when Daryl turned and frantically slammed the door shut. The blue door shuddered in its frame as the walkers piled against it inside. There was no way to lock it from the outside, and there was nothing nearby with which to block it.

"We'll look somewheres else," he said as he guided her back to the car with the palm of his hand pressed against the small of her back.

Carol slid into the passenger's seat and rested the rifle upright between her knees as memories of Sophia continued to overwhelm her. She was having trouble breathing when Daryl started the car. The door of the daycare broke open beneath the weight of the herd of walker children. The grasping creatures tumbled to the ground. The last of the undead children stumbled over the clawing herd and staggered toward the car.

" _Breathe_ , woman!" Daryl ordered as he peeled out of the parking lot.

Eventually, Carol did, in raspy breaths that gradually returned to normal. "Sorry," she apologized when she had calmed herself. "Guess I'm still the weakling of the crew."

"Ain't nothin' weak 'bout ya," he assured her. "They got to me, too. All them damn kids."

They drove for several minutes without speaking. Daryl kept glancing at her, his blue eyes graying with concern. After a few miles, he stopped to siphon off some gas from a few abandoned cars, while Carol remained in the passenger's seat, her head pressed against the window, trying not to remember and trying not to cry. At last, she shook off the feeling, threw open the car door, and went to help him. They filled the tank of the sedan and one red, five-gallon container.

They tried a grocery store next, killing six walkers as they roamed the aisles, but they found nothing worth taking except three cans of brussel sprouts. Daryl debated the value of bothering with those.

"But I want to make you a brussel sprout pie for your birthday," Carol teased him.

"Well, if anyone could make 'em edible, guess it's you." As they returned to the car, he grumbled, "All the stores been cleaned out by now."

"We should look at houses," she suggested.

They drove until they found a suburban neighborhood that did not appear to be too overrun. They chose to look in houses with young children's toys out front, as they were more likely to have formula. There were only a few walkers roaming the streets, but in each house they encountered two or three. Daryl's arrows were growing black with blood, and Carol's knife was wet with it, but they kept going.

Carol was finding she no longer flinched when she stabbed a walker, that, for her, killing walkers was becoming as routine and unremarkable as a diabetic giving himself injections. Needle in, needle out, task completed. She was proud of herself, but she was also just a little bit frightened by herself.

Daryl looked at the walker she had just killed in the kitchen of one side of a duplex. "Yer gettin' really good at this."

Carol stepped over the dead body to open the pantry. It was crawling with sugar ants, hundreds of them, swarming around, over, and in a box of opened cereal and a bag of sugar. The pantry was otherwise bare, except for a single can of beets, which she grabbed. "They always leave the beets for last," she said. "I don't know why. I love beets. But I liked to grow them fresh."

Daryl was on his haunches and rummaging through a lower cupboard across from the stove. Carol slipped the beets into her backpack. "You aren't going to find anything in there. It's all pots and pans."

He cupped a hand over his ear. "What's that, Negative Nelly?" He seized something, drew it out, and stood. In his hand he held a dust-coated bottle of wine.

"Guess we'll be enjoying some fine dining tonight." Carol took the bottle from him and put it in her backpack.

They found nothing else of use in the house. As they emerged, the sun was beginning to set. They made their way down a cracked sidewalk, weapons readied and eyes searching the lawns."Gettin' dark," Daryl said. "Better hole up for the night. Keep lookin' in the mornin'."

Carol agreed. It was harder to clear houses by flashlight, after all, and she didn't want to head back empty handed. She glanced at Daryl's broad shoulders as he walked a few steps ahead or her and felt an instinctive stirring. Carol scolded herself. She was like a pathetic schoolgirl, she thought, looking forward to finding herself accidentally alone with her secret crush.


	3. It's the Accuracy that Matters

_**A/N:**_ _Thanks for the comments. Keep 'em coming! I know "Going to find some formula," doesn't sound like a great plot line for a story, but I hope you are enjoying these everyday, minor adventures and conversations..._

[*]

"This one." Daryl stopped before a SOLD sign. The house looked small and may have been emptied out after the sale, but there were only three windows visible on the lower level, which would make boarding up for the night easier.

His hand wrapped in his red bandanna, Daryl broke the narrow, vertical window near the front door, reached around, and unlocked the deadbolt. Once inside, they dropped their backpacks in the foyer and Daryl locked the door again. First, they cleared the house, creeping through it with crossbow and knife ready. Carol also had her rifle slung over her shoulder, but it was always a last resort. Drawing attention with gunshots was not the best idea.

The living room had a leather couch and loveseat, cherry oak end tables, and a glass coffee table with nothing at all on it but a large coffee table book containing black and white Ansel Adams photographs. Dry wood rested in the fireplace, over which there hung a massive Thomas Kinkade painting. There were no signs of life or of the living dead.

They moved onto the dining room next. The table was set with fancy china and silver, and two pewter candlesticks rested in the center. Daryl took down one of the decorative oil lamps from the wall. He tried lighting it, and the thing actually worked. The sun had almost entirely set now, so the light would soon come in handy. Daryl held his crossbow in one hand and the oil lamp in the other as they continued on. He wouldn't be able to handle his crossbow easily with one hand, so he must be relying on Carol to kill any creatures they might encounter. She was pleased by his apparent confidence in her.

Except for a layer of dust, the kitchen counters were completely bare, and the stainless steel refrigerator was free of any magnets, drawings, or notes. Pots hung neatly from above the stove stop. "Who the hell lives like this?" Daryl asked. "It's like a goddamn museum."

"They were probably staging the home to sell it." Carol had thought of becoming a real estate agent herself, that second year she was married to Ed, but when it was time to sit for the test, he took her car keys and told her she shouldn't bother because she would just fail. Besides, Ed had told her, she had him to provide. Carol cursed herself for not resisting him back then as she walked to the pantry now. She wasn't optimistic they would find anything worth taking as she opened the doors.

The light of Daryl's lamp rose from behind her shoulder. "Hooooooly shit! That's a hell of a lot of food."

The pantry was stuffed with canned vegetables, spices, oil, vinegar, jams, peanut butter, flour, sugar, salt, sodas, and more.

Daryl tapped the tip of his crossbow against a blue box of powdered milk. "Can little ass kicker drink this shit?"

"If she _has_ to," Carol said. "It's better than nothing. But it's not going to give her the kind of nutrients formula does. And she'll have trouble breaking it down. It might upset her little tummy."

They made their way up the stairs, where there were only two bedrooms. The door to the first was slightly a jar, and Carol kicked it open while Daryl lit her way. Her knife was drawn and she was ready to stab, and it took a moment for the tension in her muscles to uncoil when there was nothing to kill. Daryl set the oil lamp on top of a bare dresser to light the room and readied his crossbow as he opened the closet. "Clear."

The room clearly belonged to a teenage boy, as Carol discovered when she opened the first drawer of the dresser. Probably because the house was being shown, the boy had shoved a lot of his stuff in there on top of his underwear - three high school wrestling team trophies, a _Sports Illustrated_ swimsuit calendar, a portable DVD player, and - the best find - several packages of batteries.

Daryl meanwhile explored the closet. "Kid had some gay lookin' clothes."

Carol glanced over. "Those are singlets for wrestling. That brother I told you about? The one who died in college? He used to be on the high school wrestling team."

Daryl's dark blue eyes flickered softly in the lamplight as he studied her. When he looked at her like that, quietly and tenderly, it always made her heart melt just a little.

"I'm fine," she assured him and turned back to the stash in the dresser drawer. She drew out the DVD player, opened it, and pressed the power button. She could hear the whirring of the disc inside. "Look what I found."

Daryl came and stood behind her to watch over her shoulder. The DVD picked up in whatever spot the boy had left off. Strange sounds emitted from the small speaker of the portable player, grunting and groaning and a woman's cries of "Yes! Yes! Yes! Fuck me hard!" The picture on the screen flickered into focus, and, in the mirror over the dresser, Carol saw Daryl turn, once again, that highly unusual shade of red. She laughed as he reached around her and slammed the screen of the portable DVD player shut. They could still hear the sounds of sex coming from inside it.

"Hey, maybe I wanted to watch that! I told you I've never seen a porno." Carol lifted the screen again. "And that police officer looks very well-toned. Even better than Rick."

Daryl grunted, seized the oil lamp, and left the room. Carol turned off the player and followed him. He declared the upstairs hall bathroom "Clear," and so they moved onto the master bedroom, the last room in the small house. It was even more neat and orderly than the previous room and contained a sparse amount of furniture – one tall dresser, two nightstands, and a king-sized bed, which was neatly made up and coated with decorative pillows. Carol checked the closet while Daryl set the oil lamp on one nightstand and began rustling through the drawers.

"Clear," she said. As she turned from the closet, she saw Daryl pull out a purple, slightly curved object from the top nightstand drawer.

"What the hell is this?" He pressed the button on the bottom. The object began to buzz.

Carol snorted. "And _I'm_ the one who's never seen a naughty movie? It's a vibrator, silly."

Daryl's hand flew open like he'd just grasped hot coals. The vibrator landed with a thud in the drawer, still buzzing. "How in the hell was I s'pose to know? Don't look nothin' like a cock. And it's small."

"Well, it's not the size that matters, Daryl," Carol said. "It's the _accuracy_."

He flushed that peculiar red again and slid the drawer shut, which muffled the buzzing but also made it echo.

"Besides, I don't think it's _that_ small." Her eyes flickered quickly to the zipper of his pants and then away. "I suppose the homeowners didn't want that out and about when potential buyers were visiting," she said cheerfully, trying not to laugh, and trying not to make any speculations with regard to size.

"C'mon." He lifted the oil lamp. "Let's lock up."

They went back downstairs and found a walker shoving its head into the narrow, broken window by the door, its dead jaw opening and closing as if it were smelling human flesh through its mouth. Carol stabbed it, and then Daryl pushed it out of the window frame. They boarded up all of the downstairs windows using the shelves from two bookcases in the hallway. The bookcases had been easy to clear, as they'd contained only a handful of books and a few decorative knicknacks. Carol would have done a much better job of staging the house, she thought.

Next, they cleaned their hands, which had traces of walker blood, using a bottle of Purell they'd found in the downstairs hall bathroom. Then they settled down at the kitchen table for dinner by oil lamp. They shared a can of kidney beans and another of peas and drank a can of root beer each.

"Damn, this tastes good," Daryl said as he set the soda down. "Haven't had a coke in ages."

"It's root beer," she said. He shot her a puzzled looked. "Oh, you meant coke generically."

"Why?" he asked. "What'd ya grow up callin' it in yer neck of the woods?"

"Soda."

"Well, least ya don't call it _pop_ like Michonne."

Carol laughed. "She does not."

"Mhm. Did once. I think on account of her boyfriend was from Chicago."

Carol wondered how much he and Michonne had talked those nights they were tracking together. Daryl wasn't much of a talker. Carol liked to think there was something special about _her_ ability to get him to talk. But he seemed to know a lot about Michonne. She wanted to ask about how they passed their nights together on the road, but she didn't want to sound jealous either, because, she _wasn't_ jealous. Not in the least, she assured herself. Why should she be? She didn't have any romantic claim on Daryl.

A loud belch erupted from Daryl's mouth. He pounded his chest and then stuck his spoon right back into the can of kidney beans. That, at least, had a dampening affect on any possessive romantic feelings that might have been surfacing within her. "You're supposed to say excuse me," she informed him.

"Ain't nobody here."

"What am I? Chopped liver?"

"'Scuse me," he said.

Carol suddenly remembered the wine. She took the oil lamp, stood, and rummaged through the drawers for a corkscrew, but she couldn't find one. Daryl asked what she was looking for, and when she told him, he pulled out his Leatherman, fiddled with it, and then handed it to her with the corkscrew sticking up. "Let's drink it in the livin' room."

They left the empty cans on the kitchen table. Carol grabbed two crystal glasses from the hutch in the dinning room and then followed Daryl to the living room. He tried to get the fire going in the fireplace. While he was fiddling with matches and the pages he had ripped out of one of the paperbacks from the bookcases in the hall, she opened the wine and poured them each a glass.

Once the fire was licking the logs, Daryl turned down the oil lamp, took off his leather jacket, and draped it over the back of the love seat. But he chose to sit down on the leather couch. He landed hard on the middle cushion, with a squish and a poof of dust, which caused him to sneeze. The house was completely dark now, except for the glow of the fire. The flames illuminated the living room and Daryl's tired eyes. He pulled off his boots, peeled off his socks, and put his grimy, bare feet straight up on the coffee table, on top of the Ansel Adams book and next to the bottle of wine.

"Lovely," Carol said.

"Ain't yer house. Cain't tell me what to do."

She sat down next to him on the far right cushion. "I was hoping we'd find some more DVDs down here. Use that player. Watch something."

" _Roman Holiday?"_ he asked, and she was surprised he'd remembered her favorite movie.

Carol smiled. "But it looks like we won't be able to have a romantic movie night after all. Unless you want to watch that porno?"

"Stop."

She handed him his glass of wine from the coffee table and plucked up her own.

Daryl took a sip, hissed with satisfaction, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes, resting the stem of his wine glass against his upper leg. She wondered if he planned to sleep here. There was that nice, comfy looking king-size bed in the master bedroom, and the second floor was always safer. Wherever they slept, it would be wise to stick together, in the same room. If he dozed off here on the couch, she'd move over to the love seat and curl up there. "But since there are no movies," she said. "I guess we better amuse ourselves by playing a game."

He opened one eye. "You and yer damn games."

"It'll be fun," she insisted. "Truth or Dare."


	4. Truth

Daryl opened his other eye. "I know that game. We ain't doin' any dares. Liable to get killed."

"Well, I'm not going to dare you to step outside and hug a walker!" Carol said. "I might dare you to do a silly dance or something like that."

"In that case, I'm only takin' truths."

She smiled. At least that meant he was willing to play. "Then here's your truth. Who's the girl in the photo?" It was a risky move. He'd already called her nosy once, and he might get mad at her again. But she really wanted to know.

He swung his feet down from the coffee table and onto the floor. He sat forward and guzzled his wine, draining the entire glass in a few large gulps. That wasn't a good sign. The stem met the top of the coffee table with a clink as he set the wine glass down. He refilled it.

"Hey! I get half the bottle," she said. "Don't forget just because I'm drinking slower." Carol took a small sip of her wine. It was dry and tasted magnificent, as though it had aged the ideal amount. Or maybe it just tasted good because it was the first drop of wine she'd had since the CDC. "Was she your girlfriend?" The idea of Daryl having a cute, young, smiling girlfriend was incredibly _weird_ to her, but she couldn't think of any other explanation.

"What kind of perv do ya take me for? She's seventeen!"

"Well, I didn't know that! She looked like she was in her early twenties to me." The older Carol got, the harder it was for her to tell the difference. "And at one time you were younger. I didn't know how old the photo was."

"She's my niece."

Carol stared at him over her wine glass. " _Merle's_ daughter?"

Daryl nodded. "I only met her once, long 'fore that picture was taken. She was eight at the time. That's when Merle first learned 'bout her. Girl's mama tracked Merle down, started askin' for money. But he weren't exactly the only man she'd been with 'round that time. He took me with him to meet the girl, see if I thought she was his."

"And did you think so?"

"How the hell would I know? Paternity test said she was. So Merle started sending her mama money. He only saw the girl a couple, maybe three times a year, whenever her mama'd get a notion to let him."

"What's your niece's name?"

"Savannah."

"So why do you have the photo?" Carol asked. "If you've only met her once?"

"Took it from Merle's stuff after he died. Wanted a memento, I guess. I ain't got a picture of Merle. That's the closest thing I've got."

"She has his eyes," Carol said, remembering the photo and remembering the time she had stared into Merle's eyes - _stared him down_ \- and warned him not to hurt Daryl. "Did she die when it all started?"

"Dunno. Merle made us go lookin' for her after the shit hit the fan. Figured her mama weren't gonna be able to protect her. Me and him went to their trailer park in Macon, but the whole place'd been cleaned out. Looked like they ran. We was checkin' out all the camps 'tween Macon and Atlanta, which is the direction Merle figured they'd of moved. Checkin' to see if she was in any of 'em. She weren't."

Carol had always wondered what had brought the Dixon brothers into their camp, when they seemed perfectly capable of surviving on their own and neither was precisely a people person. "What made you stay with us, after you saw she wasn't there?"

"I just did a truth. It's yer turn."

Carol set her wine glass down on the coffee table. "I'll take a dare."

"Hmmm..." Daryl slid down to the opposite end of the couch from her, swiveled himself so he was leaned back against the arm, and then abruptly swung one bare foot into her lap. The other he kept planted on the carpet. "Dare ya to rub my filthy, stinkin' foot."

She laughed, happy and relieved he was playing along. "Can I at least wash it first?"

"Nah. It's what ya deserve, for makin' me play this dumb ass game in the first place."

She wrapped her hand around his foot. He seemed surprised that she actually accepted the dare, and he began to pull away. It was the first time he'd flinched at her touch in days. Carol held his foot in place. "Relax," she insisted.

He left his foot in her lap, but she could see the tension in every one of his muscles. She began with a gentle massage, and eventually, he _did_ relax into her touch. With one arm slung across the back of the couch, he closed his eyes.

Carol worked her thumb in steadily but gently on a tight spot in the center. His foot was rough, callused, and dirty, but she loved the low murmur of pleasure that escaped his lips as she worked her way down it. She appreciated that he was letting his guard down with her. She knew it wasn't an easy thing to do. Carol couldn't let herself be vulnerable either, except - sometimes - with _him_.

He winced when her fingers touched his ankle, and she realized he had blisters. She returned her fingers to the sole of his foot and continued the massage. "You need new boots."

"I know. Hard to find my size. Got big feet."

"Well, you know what they say about big feet," she teased.

He kept his eyes closed as he replied, "Pffft."

"So you aren't confirming?"

"Stop."

She stopped rubbing.

"Not _that_ ," he clarified. "Meant stop _practicin'_ yer flirtin' on me."

Carol resumed her rubbing. "Fine. I'll practice on Bob instead."

Daryl's eyes shot open. "What?"

"The new guy you and Glenn brought in."

"Yeah, know who he is. Don't practice on 'em."

"Why not?" Carol asked.

"Well...'cause he might take ya serious!"

"So you're saying I should just keep practicing on you? Because there's no risk you'll ever take me seriously?"

He peered at her through his disarrayed bangs. He seemed unsure of what she was asking him, and he didn't reply. She brushed his foot off her lap and reclaimed her wine glass.

He turned again, his back against the couch cushion, his wine glass in his hand. "Ain'tcha gonna go decontaminate yer hands?"

"Decontaminate?" Carol asked. She thought of that time Andrea had mocked him for using the word observant, saying, _wow, that's a big word for someone like you - three whole syllables_. "Andrea would be impressed. Five whole syllables."

Daryl chuckled, but the smile faded to a solemn grimace. He raised his glass. "A toast to the dead." They didn't often talk about the dead. You couldn't. There was no time to grieve them. "To Merle," he said, his voice thick, "and Andrea. To Lori and Dale and T-Dog."

"And to Sophia." Carol could tell she'd surprised Daryl by mentioning her daughter. She usually kept a tight clamp on that part of her heart, but she was feeling like she could risk mentioning her little girl this evening. Maybe it was the warmth of the fire. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the company.

"To Sophia," he said softly, his eyes flickering with some feeling she could not read - guilt, sadness, sympathy, or anger - maybe all four swirling at once in that cloudy blue sea.

They clanged their glasses together. Carol drained her entire glass quickly. Daryl gave her a wary look as he refilled it for her. "I'm fine," she assured him, even though the pain was worming its way into her heart. She distracted herself from it by saying, "And no, I'm not going to run off and wash my hands right away. You aren't as disgusting as you think you are, you know. And it's your turn for a truth."

"What if I want to take the dare?" he asked.

She plucked up the glass he'd just refilled. "I dare you to streak naked from the living room to the kitchen."

"I'll take a truth," he said.

"Too late," she teased.

"Didn't _say_ I was takin' a dare. Asked what _if_ I _wanted_ to take a dare."

"Fine. Here's your truth - why did you stay with our camp, when you saw your niece wasn't in it, instead of moving on?"

A reluctant, growl-like sigh rumbled in his throat. He clearly didn't want to share his motives.

"You have to answer," Carol told him. "Or you have to take the dare."

"Merle and me," he said, "we was just waitin' for a good chance to rob ya. We was gonna take the cigarettes, the canned food, the gas, the ammo, the guns, and Dale's RV. We was waitin' 'til y'all was at yer most vulnerable. But then Merle and them went on that run, and Rick cuffed Merle to that pipe, and Merle disappeared, and I didn't feel much like robbin' y'all by myself." He looked down into his wine glass and studied the ripples. "So now you know."

"Now I know," she said quietly.

"Ya think I'm shit now?" he asked.

"You didn't go through with it."

"Only 'cause Merle never came back from that run. I would've."

"No," she said. "You wouldn't have."

"I ain't the choir boy you think I am."

She laughed. "I've never mistaken you for a choir boy, Daryl."

He bent his head down and smiled.

"And anyway, it doesn't matter," she insisted. "You wouldn't do it _now_." Daryl had a hard time seeing the good in himself, no matter how often she pointed it out. "Even _you_ can admit that."

His eyes flickered in the flames of the fireplace as he looked at her seriously. "I'd kill for y'all now. Die for ya."

"I know you would." When he looked away from her reassuring gaze, she said, "My turn. I'll take a truth, because your dares just involve service work."

"A'right." He ran a finger up and down the stem of his wine glass. He had a fierce look of concentration when he was thinking, and his brow furrowed.

Carol, curious to hear what question he might come up with, waited.


	5. I Dare You to Kiss Me

"Cain't think of anythin'," Daryl said finally.

"Really? There's nothing at all you want to know about me?"

Maybe he sensed the disappointment in her voice, because he quickly came up with a question. "Was ya close to yer brother? Roy?"

Well that was disappointing. There was nothing at all naughty about that question. Daryl clearly didn't understand how you were supposed to play this game. But Carol was again surprised by his ability to remember the little things she'd told him - that one detail, her brother's name, which she'd only mentioned once. "Not as close as I wish we'd been. He moved in his own circle with his friends, and I moved in mine. I never knew what was going on with him, really. But he was a good guy. I sometimes wonder if my life would have turned out differently if he had lived...if I ever would have married Ed, or if I'd feel like I had a place to run to when he started hitting me."

"Ya couldn't run to yer daddy?"

"He died a few months after I was married, before Ed hit me for the first time."

"But if he weren't dead?"

Carol understood what Daryl was asking her. He wanted to do know if her father had abused her, the way his had. "My father...he never hit me or my mom or Roy. But he was very traditional. And he was stern. When I eloped with Ed, he was livid. He thought I was abandoning him and that it was my duty as a daughter to take care of him. I don't know if I would have turned to him for help. I probably wouldn't have been able to stand hearing him say I told you so. But I did check in on him after I married Ed. And Ed didn't hit me as long as he was alive."

Daryl nodded.

"Truth or dare?" Carol asked.

"Don't like yer dares," he grumbled. "Truth I guess."

"Who was the condom for? The one I found in your wallet?" Carol wanted to know, and she didn't want to know.

Daryl flushed that unnatural red again. "No one."

"You and Michonne aren't..."

Daryl's eyes widened. "What?"

"Well, you clearly respect her."

"Well, sure," Daryl said. "Ya seen her with that sword thing?"

"The katana? Yes. It's impressive. So…you respect her, she's pretty, and you two have spent all that time alone together, out tracking."

"Ya gotta be shittin' me. I ain't at all her type." Carol noticed he didn't say _Michonne_ wasn't _his_ type. "Good Lord. Michonne went to Emory. Used to live in a luxury condo in the big city and go to modern art shows and shit."

"See, I didn't know any of that about her. But you've _really_ gotten to know her."

"Not in the biblical sense I ain't! 'Sides, think she's sweet on Rick."

"Rick?" Carol asked, her voice rising with surprise. "His wife just died."

"Yeah, and he just stopped bein' batshit crazy not that long ago. But apparently he's _well-toned_. Ain't that what ya said?" Daryl sounded almost jealous. "And he'd be hell of a lot better to take to an art show than me."

"I don't think Michonne's going to any art shows any time soon," Carol told him.

He pointed his wine glass toward the painting above the fireplace, Thomas Kinkade's _Away From It All,_ which depicted a small cottage by a rolling stream in the forest. The cottage was all aglow inside, and outside, a dog slept peacefully on the porch. The leaves of the nearby trees had turned red, and moonlight shimmered on the water. "Think she'd like that? Brighten up the prison?"

Carol didn't like the idea of Daryl bringing Michonne a gift. "I doubt she likes Thomas Kinkade."

"Why? Who is he? What's wrong with 'em?"

"Well...he's very sentimental. And commercial. I doubt Michonne would take him seriously as an artist."

"Ya like it?" he asked.

She looked at the painting in the glow of the flames that were slowly eating away the logs in the fireplace. "Yeah, but I'm not deep. And I _am_ sentimental." She'd kept that Cherokee rose he'd given her, after all. She'd pressed it between the pages of Sophia's journal. Her daughter had liked to write poetry to pass the dull hours in the camp, and to survive, somehow, the horror of their new world. Carol kept the journal - and the pressed flower - in her backpack always.

"Guess I ain't deep neither." His eyes lingered on the warm, clean little cottage. "Hell, I'd love to live in a place just like that. Ya know, if there weren't walkers all over the damn woods. Just...go huntin'. Come home in the quiet moonlight to a good, comfortable chair. A warm fire. A loyal dog."

"What about a woman?" Carol asked. "Would there be a woman in that cottage?"

"Loyal woman'd be a'right too. As long as she can cook."

"Chauvinist," Carol scolded, but what she thought was - _I can cook._

"And she don't talk too much," Daryl added with a light smirk.

"Unlike me, huh?"

He sipped, rested the wine glass back on his knee, and said, "Don't mind yer voice none."

"No? Why's that?"

"It's soft. Ya don't yell." His eyes caressed the painting. "Even back on Hershel's farm, when I was bein' an ass and yellin' at ya...ya just talked back real steady and calm." He shook his head. "Don't know how ya do it."

Carol looked at the little log cabin and wondered, for a moment, what it would be like to live in such a place, at the edge of the world, cooking whatever kill Daryl brought home, snuggling up on the couch after dinner before the fire, and sharing a bottle of wine. Not unlike what they were doing right now, come to think of it - except for the snuggling part. In the fireplace before them, the flames snapped and crackled and burned away her fantasy. "You never said who the condom was for."

"Did say. No one."

"Then why do you carry it? Just in case? You're always prepared?" She smiled. "A regular Boy Scout?"

"Hell yeah!"

That was not the answer Carol had been expecting from him.

"Can use 'em for lots of things," Daryl went on. "Tourniquet for one."

"What?"

"Sure. Yer cut, bleedin', just tie it tight 'round yerself."

"I'm not sure how well that would work," Carol said skeptically.

"Fire starter. They's real flammable. Stuff it full of dry leaves and then...woosh!" He opened one hand in an explosive gesture.

Was he joking? It was hard to tell. He was saying it all so seriously, and if anyone could come up with multiple survival-related uses for anything, it was Daryl.

"Sling shot," he continued. "Instant weapon. A slingshot's more deadly than ya might think."Carol's lips began to twitch into a smile. She still wasn't one hundred percent certain he was joking, but his next suggested use for condoms finally made it clear: "Water balloons. Ya never know when a water balloon fight's fixin' to break out."

Carol laughed and playfully slapped his shoulder. "You're full of it," she told him.

He finally smiled.

Carol accepted that she wasn't going to get a straight answer about the condom. "My turn."

"Truth or dare?" he asked.

"I'll take another dare."

This time he swiveled his left foot into her lap. She rolled her eyes, set down her wine glass, and gave him a three minute foot massage, during which she discovered his littlest toe was ticklish. The massage ended when he jerked his foot away because she wouldn't stop tickling him.

"Your turn," she said. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth," he answered. He was never going to let her dare him again, it seemed, after her streaking suggestion.

"How old were you when you lost your virginity?"

A line jumped in his jaw and he cast his eyes down. "The usual," he said. "Seventeen."

Carol wasn't aware there was a _usual_ , and it sounded like he was lying. She could hear it in the forced tone of his voice, but she didn't press him. In fact, she wished she hadn't asked the question. Maybe he'd been unusually young, or unusually old. Maybe he'd lost it in some unpleasant, embarrassing, or regretful way. Maybe Merle had dragged him to a prostitute because he was too shy to get a girlfriend, or maybe he'd been seduced by one of his father's girlfriends. His tight expression caused all sorts of unpleasant scenarios to surface to her mind, and she decided it was best to let the subject slide.

"My turn," she said quickly. "I'll take a truth, because I don't want to rub anymore feet." That wasn't entirely true. She'd missed physical contact ever since Sophia had died. A daily, human, affectionate touch of some kind had been a normal thing for her in the midst of this bleak apocalypse, and it had vanished when Sophia vanished. It was rare that unmarried adults touched one another. Carol liked just being able to _touch_ someone again. Maybe she'd ask for a back rub if he ever accepted a dare. He'd given her a shoulder rub once, for a little while, until he gotten all weird about it and backed off. She'd had to plow through the awkwardness by joking about screwing around, because there had been some strange tension there.

Daryl sipped his wine, ran his fingers across his lips, and stared into the fire. She wondered if he was still bothered by her question about his lost virginity. "Cain't think of anythin'."

"It can be anything. It doesn't have to be embarrassing," she said. "You can ask me my favorite color."

"Know yer favorite color. It's yellow."

How did he know _that_? She didn't remember telling him that, but she supposed it must have come up, somehow, at some point. "Ask me anything."

"A'right," he said, setting his wine glass on the table and leaning back against the cushions of the couch. "Who do ya think's the best lookin' guy in our camp?"

She chuckled. "You just want to hear me say you."

"What? Nah. Figure'd you'd say Rick."

"Why would I say Rick?"

"Ya compared him to that porno guy."

"Because he was playing a cop," she reminded him.

"Michonne says Rick's...uh...classically handsome."

Carol chuckled. "I don't know about that. He's good-looking. I don't really see him as the Cary Grant type, though. Your turn. Truth or dare?"

"Ya didn't answer yer truth."

"Yes, I did. _You,_ of course."

"C'mon," he said, "stop teasin' and just answer."

"I just did!"

"Yer the one who wanted to play this game."

"Daryl, I'm not teasing. I think you're the best looking guy in our camp."

Daryl's thumb went straight to his mouth. He chewed on the nail. It was a nervous habit, but she couldn't help but feel a wave of affection for him every time he did it. He peered at her through his bangs, studying her face, as if he was trying to decide whether or not to believe her.

"Truth or dare?" she asked him.

"Dare," he muttered around his thumbnail. "Long as it don't involve streakin'."

He apparently didn't want to risk another truth after the virginity question. She contemplated all the things she could dare him to do. Shoulder rub? Foot rub? Back rub? In the end, she settled on something else entirely: "Okay," she said. "I dare you to kiss me."


	6. Heading to Bed

_**A/N:** Thank you to everyone for all of the encouraging reviews! I hope you continue to enjoy._

[*]

"Stop."

Daryl thought she was joking, of course, and why wouldn't he? She'd been teasing him flippantly for weeks. If you cry wolf often enough, no one's going to believe you really mean it. In addition to that, Carol was still reluctant to admit to herself just how much she desired him. She _did_ want him to kiss her, but she was just _curious_ , she assured herself. She just wanted to know what his lips felt like. That was all.

"Chicken," she told him, trying to sound more nonchalant than she felt. "Afraid of a little woman like me."

"What? I ain't afraid of ya."

"Then take the dare."

The tip of his tongue snaked out between his lips. He licked them instinctively, from left to right and then back again, before drawing his tongue inside. She couldn't help but focus on his mouth the entire time, and her heart began nervously pattering.

He set his wine glass down on the coffee table. "Tongue or no tongue?" he asked.

Carol's stomach cinched. She felt a moment of stark uncertainty, like a little girl who has been playing with fire and suddenly realizes she might actually burn the house down. "Tongue." She tried to say it casually, teasingly, but she was afraid it might have come out in a squeak.

He slid a little closer to her on the couch and stretched his arm out across the back of it. He was inches from her face, and she could feel his hot breath. She swallowed. As he leaned in, she closed her eyes. His lips touched down on her cheek. They pressed warmly and softly against her flesh for a brief moment, heightening her expectation, and then...he licked her suddenly and sloppily. His wet, outstretched tongue drew across her cheek from chin to forehead.

Carol jerked away. "Ewww!"

Daryl snickered.

"Gross!" At least her heart had ceased its silly palpitations.

"You _said_ tongue."

"You're like a 5th grade boy!"

"Yep," he agreed. "But I ain't the only one. Most men don't mature beyond 5th grade."

"Apparently not." She lifted the tail of his canvass shirt, bent her head down, and wiped her cheek with the fabric.

"Ya didn't want to treasure that?" Daryl asked with a smirk. "Never wash yer cheek again?"

"Screw you!" she cried, but she couldn't help laughing. It had been so unexpected. So out of character. Even if he hadn't taken her seriously, and even if she didn't like being licked on her face, at least he was having _fun_ with her. Daryl could be so unflinchingly serious. So irritable. So heavy. But tonight...tonight maybe he was finally _enjoying_ himself. He was finally joking back. The only problem was...she hadn't entirely been joking.

"Truth or dare?" asked Daryl as he slid back toward the arm of the couch again.

Carol placed a palm on her cheek. It was dry now, but still warm. "Truth."

"Who ya practicn' for?"

"What?"

"All the flirtin'. Who ya practicin' _for_?"

She looked at his wine glass on the table and noticed it was empty. Somehow, so was hers. That left only one glass in the bottle. "You asked that the other day on the watch tower," she answered, "and I told you, no one. I'm just getting confident with the tool."

Skepticism grayed his eyed. "Not Rick?"

"No! Not Rick." She really shouldn't have mentioned Rick when that porno flashed on the screen. She'd been teasing, but now Daryl had it stuck in his head that she was secretly lusting after the ex-deputy, which was especially silly considering that she'd had her reservations about Rick's leadership ever since the farm. Daryl had been the one to defend Rick to her, to tell her he was honorable.

"Truth or dare?" she asked him.

"Truth."

She chose a variation on one of the questions he had asked her. "Who do you think is the prettiest girl in the prison?" She figured he would probably say Michonne. Even if there was nothing going on between them, Michonne was a stunning woman.

"Little Ass Kicker."

"Woman. I meant woman."

"Ya didn't say woman."

Carol shook her head. "You're being really legalistic about this game."

Daryl smiled. "Truth or dare?" he asked.

"I'll take a dare this time."

He reached for the wine bottle and filled her empty glass, thereby emptying the bottle. "Dare you to chug that in under forty seconds."

"Come on," she said, smiling. "I'm a complete lightweight, and I already had two glasses."

"Then this should be interestin'."

She shook her head.

"Yer the one who took the dare."

"It would be a waste of wine," she insisted. "You're supposed to savor wine."

"Chicken," he said. "Afraid of a little glass of wine."

Carol seized the glass and began chugging it. Daryl laughed. She'd never heard him laugh quite like that before - not a chuckle, not a snort, not a snicker, but an outright laugh. He sounded _happy_. It was almost worth the burning in her throat just to hear it. In the end, she drank too fast, spluttered on the last half ounce, and spewed droplets of wine on his face. He blinked and drew his fingers slowly across his eyelids to wipe them clean.

"Sorry," she giggled. She reached over and, with her thumb, wiped the remaining drops from his cheeks. She then put her thumb in her mouth to suck it clean.

Daryl stared at her, his own mouth slightly agape. When she noticed him watching, she slid her thumb slowly and suggestively back and forth in her mouth. She circled the tip with her tongue, and then thrust it in and sucked with an _mmmmmh_ sound.

"Stop!" he insisted.

She erupted in laughter. When she'd settled down, she asked, "So should I put that super sexy move in the _no_ column in my flirtation notebook?"

"Ya have a notebook?"

Did he really imagined her taking notes on flirting techniques? "No, I don't have a notebook!" She tapped her forehead. "Just a steel trap mind."

"Are ya already buzzed?"

She ignored his question. "Truth or dare?"

To her surprise, he said, "Dare."

She wanted to dare him to kiss her _properly_ , on the _lips_ , to make it clear she hadn't just been giving him a hard time, but she couldn't quite summon the courage, even with this buzz tingling her brain. So she just said the first thing that came to her mind, a mind that was somewhat fuzzy from the wine. "Chicken dance."

Daryl frowned. "What the hell is a chicken dance?" he grumbled. "Chickens don't dance."

"You know that song, with the accordion? You flap your arms like a chicken and shimmy down and clap?" Sophia used to love doing the chicken dance.

"I got no idea what yer talkin' 'bout."

"Fine. Then I dare you to do the Macarena."

Carol was fully ready for him to tell her that he had no idea what the Macarena was, but instead he stood up and faced her. With an annoyed look on his face, he put one arm straight out, then the other. Just as stiffly, he put both arms behind his head. The he lowered his right arm to touch his left hip before lowering his left arm to touch his right looked like he was doing some kind of angry warm-up stretch.

Daryl plopped back down on the couch. "Happy now?"

"That was _not_ the Macarena. Not by a long shot."

"Well yer gonna have to pay extra if'n ya want the hip thrust."

She snorted. Daryl's playfulness continued to surprise her. Maybe he really could let himself relax with her in a way he couldn't with anyone else. Stepping into this house, boarding it up, shutting off the world...it was as if, for a moment, they'd closed the shades on all the horror, death, and loss that surrounded them. She didn't want to have to draw those shades up again in the morning. She didn't want this time before the fire to end.

"We better get some shut eye," he said. "Got to find that formula in the mornin'."

And just like that, it _did_ end.

Carol sighed.

[*]

Carol took the oil lamp to the downstairs hall bathroom to freshen up. Amazingly, there was still some water in the toilet, and it flushed, but it didn't refill. She used the Purell to clean her hands. She almost dropped it trying to pick it up. She wasn't _entirely_ steady on her feet. Next, she found an unopened tube of toothpaste in the vanity and brushed her teeth with a single fingertip. When she emerged, she was startled by a dark mass in the hallway and reached for the knife on her belt.

"Just me," Daryl said. "Got to take a piss."

"Did you put out the fire?"

"Yep."

She handed him the oil lamp and waited in the hall. With the windows boarded up, the darkness was nearly absolute, and she took a maglite off her belt and turned it on. She swept the hallway with it. She smiled as the beam weaved up and down against the blank wall. For some reason, the light struck her as funny.

Daryl peed for what seemed like an eternity. She could hear the gushing of water and even the sound of his zipper rasping up. She could also hear the metaled clinking of the toilet handle as he tried to flush a few times before he realized it wasn't going to work. The lid of the toilet clonked down.

"Wash your hands!" she ordered through the door. "There's hand sanitizer in there. And toothpaste! Brush your teeth!"

"Yes, ma'am," he called back.

Carol chuckled.

He came out a minute and a half later with the oil lamp in one hand. He held the palm of his other hand right up to her nose, forcing her to breath the alcoholic scent of the hand sanitizer. She drew her head back. Then he leaned his face in close to hers and breathed mint in her face. She held up a hand between his face and hers. "Okay," she said. "I approve."

"Gonna check me for ticks 'fore bed, too?" he asked. "That's what my mama always did."

"You want me to?" she asked with a wiggle of her eyebrow. "I'll be _very_ thorough."

"Stop." Daryl turned and led the way toward the stairs. When she stumbled into the wall of the stairwell after the second step, he stepped down and put an arm around her waist.

"I'm fine," she insisted. "I'm not drunk."

"If'n ya say so." He slid his arm away from her waist, and suddenly she wished she hadn't pretended to be more sober than she was.

She made her way cautiously up the stairs behind him, holding onto the railing with one hand. In the upstairs hallway, the eerie glow of the oil lamp dispelled a portion of the darkness with a cloud of light. When they reached the master bedroom, Daryl slid his crossbow from his shoulder, propped it against the wall, and set the lamp down on the nightstand. Then he began flinging a bunch of the decorative pillows off the bed. They hit the wall with an almost imperceptible thud and slid down onto the plush, brown-and-gold flecked carpet. Next he turned down the comforter, grabbed a real pillow, and tossed it on the was picking up a second pillow when she asked, "What are you doing?"

"Makin' my bed," he said. "Saw extra blankets in the closet. I'll use those, so ya can have all the shit that's already on the bed."

"Daryl, it's a _king-size_ bed. You don't have to sleep on the floor. We can share it. I promise I won't bite."

He toyed with the edge of the case of the pillow he held in his hands, twirling the cloth around one fingertip. "Ya sure?"

"That I don't bite?"

"That ya don't mind."

"No I don't mind." She didn't know what his problem was. They'd slept side by side on the ground before a campfire in the past. What difference did a bed make?

"A'right," he said, as though he didn't quite believe her. He eyed her a moment longer, his fingers nervously toying with the edge of the pillow case, before he tossed the pillow back on the bed.


	7. Strange Dreams

As Carol walked to the other side of the bed, slowly and not precisely in a straight line, Daryl began emptying his pockets and unclipping things from his belt and laying them on the nightstand one by one: hunting knife, magazine pouch, maglite, Leatherman, handgun, wallet, car keys. She did the same thing on the opposite nightstand, even while watching him out of the corner of her eye.

The metal buckle of Daryl's belt clanged about as he unfastened it. The sound of Ed yanking off his belt had always sent shivers of fear through her, but tonight a different kind of shiver tingled from her head to her toes as Daryl slid his worn, leather belt from the loops with a slow rasp. He lay it on the nightstand and began unbuttoning his shirt.

Meanwhile, Carol took off her boots and socks, leaving them in a pile on the floor. She had to hold onto the nightstand for support while she did it. When she looked up from her abandoned footwear, Daryl was peeling off his outer shirt. He had on a white muscle shirt underneath, and her eyes were drawn to his bare, sinewy arms and shoulders. She'd seen them often enough, of course, given what he usually wore, but he'd taken to long-sleeved, canvass work shirts when the weather cooled. He wore them beneath his sleeveless leather vest. He was already barefoot, having left his boots and socks downstairs, and he now crawled into bed with his t-shirt and pants still on.

She took off her outer shirt, wrapped her arms behind herself to unhook her bra, and then pulled it deftly through the straps of her tank top. Daryl watched her like he thought she was doing a magic trick. Carol was feeling the wine, and also feeling a little unsteady on her feet, as she slipped out of her pants. In the prison, she slept in nothing but her underwear and tank top, so she didn't think anything of it until she began to turn down her side of the blanket and noticed Daryl staring at her, his eyes fallen to the hem of her shirt.

"Enjoying the view?" she teased. She didn't think anything of his gaze. He was a man. Men looked. It didn't mean he had any particular desire for her.

Hastily, he looked away. His Adam's apple bobbed as he reached over and turned down the oil lamp until it was nothing but a tiny, dim, blue glow. She supposed he was leaving it burning lightly like that, so if anything happened in the night, he could turn it up and they could see.

Carol settled on her side facing Daryl. She could barely make him out in the faint flicker of the now tiny flame of the lamp, but she could see enough to know he had turned his back to her.

"'Goodnight," she said.

"'Nite."

"Sleep tight."

"Hmm."

That was the last she heard from him before she drifted off to sleep.

[*]

Carol dreamed of Sophia riding a bike, crying, "Mama, look!" Her little girl pushed down hard on the pedals, but then the bike sprouted wings and flew off into the sky, while Carol yelled desperately, "Come back! Come back, Sophia!"

"Come back, _Shane_ , don't you mean?"

Carol lowered her eyes from the sky and turned to see Shane grinning at her, his eyes all twinkling and his thick black hair perfectly arrayed. "Miss me yet?" he asked.

Shane's head suddenly snapped back at his neck. A black bullet hole appeared in his forehead. A trickle of bright red blood ran down over his nose and onto his grinning lips.

The gunshot left a ringing in Carol's ear, which she covered with her left hand as she turned slowly to see Rick lowering a handgun.

"Why did you _do_ that?" she asked, her own voice echoing in her ears.

"Little Shane killed my wife!" Rick yelled.

"Judith is yours," Carol assured him, but Rick took an angry step toward her. His face morphed into Ed's.

"I know she ain't mine," Ed spat. "You've been whoring around, haven't you? How is it you don't get pregnant for years, and suddenly, you are? You trying to tell me it doesn't have anything to do with that mailman?"

"Ed," Carol reassured him frantically. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Saw you leaving cookies in the mailbox for him!" Ed shouted, his face turning blue with anger.

"For Christmas!" she pleaded, walking backwards away from him.

"Get over here!" he yelled, unbuckling his belt, yanking it off, and then folding it over. He slapped it hard against the palm of his hand.

"No," Carol pleaded. She reached for her knife on her belt but found she was only wearing a tank top and underwear. "No!" she shouted again.

A hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped and turned.

"Shhhh!" Daryl said. "Ya's havin' a nightmare."

She breathed in and out and started to sob.

"Shhh!" he reassured her. The flame of the oil lamp danced on the nightstand behind him. He must have turned it way up, because gorgeous orange and red fire cast a flowery aura above his head. "Shhh..." he murmured. "Yer a'right." And then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her cheek.

As he kissed away the hot, wet tears, she turned her head so that his mouth pressed against hers. His lips were cracked, and yet ever so soft, and she didn't want to stop tasting them. She plunged her tongue inside his mouth. Daryl moaned and caught her tongue with his. They tangled together in a wild dance until he pulled away, breathing hard.

"Truth or dare?" she asked.

He looked deeply into her eyes, holding her intensely in a smoky, gray-blue gaze. "Dare," he said, in a voice that suggested he was daring her to _really_ dare him.

"I dare you to fuck me."

His lips crushed down on hers, and he began to slide her tank top up to reveal her bare breasts. She reached for the top button of his pants and ripped it open before yanking his zipper down. He was already rock hard when she drew him out. The sensation of his erection rubbing against the silky fabric of her panties caused her to groan wildly. His voice was hoarse and hungry in her ear as he asked her, "This what ya want, Carol? Want me to fuck ya? Good and hard?" His strong hand was on one of her breasts now, greedily kneading...

But then his hand _wasn't_ on her breast. Suddenly, it was on her shoulder again. And her shirt wasn't pushed up. It was pulled all the way down. His voice wasn't hoarse and hungry. It was worried. The flame of the oil lamp wasn't turned all the way up to dance devilishly above his head. It was nothing but a faint, low dot of blueish white.

Daryl was shaking her awake.

Carol gasped and blinked. Daryl came into focus. He rolled over on his side to turn the flame of the oil lamp up and then rolled back toward her. She could see him better now. "Ya a'right?" he asked.

"Is this still my dream? Am I still asleep?"

"Ya were havin' a nightmare. But yer awake now."

She looked around the room, rubbing her eyes and gradually confirming that, this time, she really was awake.

"Ya a'right?" he asked again. "Must have been a real bad dream. Ya was moanin' and groanin' somethin' awful."

Carol could feel the heat in her cheeks and wondered if he could tell how deeply she was blushing. She felt hot all over, and she was tingling between her legs. "It was a _strange_ dream," she said.

Daryl rolled onto his back, rested his head on the pillow, and lay with one hand on his chest. "Too much wine too fast, maybe," he said. "I always have weird dreams when I get liquored up. But that weren't enough wine for me."

Carol didn't say anything. The blush was still warm on her cheek.

"What were ya dreamin' 'bout, exactly?" He turned his head slightly to look at her. "Sure were groaning."

"Nothing," she told him, lowering her eyes. "Just...flying bikes and Shane and Rick."

His eyes narrowed. "Why Rick?"

"I don't know. It was weird. Forget about it. Let's get back to sleep." She was exhausted. "Turn down the lamp."

Daryl rolled to his side and twisted the knob. The lamp's fire descended into the darkness, but it didn't go out all the way. A small flame, quiet but steady, burned against the night.


	8. The Problem of Morning Wood

_**A/N:** Thanks for the comments! This story is growing longer and more complex than the short fluff piece I originally intended, so I've decided not to stick to only Carol's point of view for the entire thing. Hope you continue to enjoy._

[*]

They hadn't boarded up the upstairs windows. Walkers never used ladders, after all. So when the sun rose over the horizon early the next morning, the light streamed in through the open blinds and tugged Daryl's eyelids open. Groggy and half awake, he suddenly feared he'd been trapped underneath something in the forest. There was an unfamiliar weight on his chest, but it was too light for a rock or a fallen tree log, too soft, and too warm.

Blinking himself awake, he craned his neck, looked down, and remembered where he was. At some point in their sleep, either he or Carol must have kicked off the covers, because they were now half on the floor and half draped over their lower legs, which meant he could see Carol's panties. She had curled up against his side, and his chest had become her pillow. Her small hand rested on his hip.

Daryl closed his eyes and wondered what he should do. Wake her? Ease out from under her? Or just lie here for a while, feeling the warm weight of her against him? It was a strange, but not unpleasant, sensation. Was it the way she was lying on him that made it hard to breathe? Maybe she was pushing the air out of him or something. He had an unfamiliar and powerful urge to wrap his arms around her, but he kept them stiffly at his side.

He opened his eyes and peered down at her again. His focus was drawn, like a magnet, to the tight curve of the silky black panties against her ass. She murmured in her sleep and shifted against him. In the process, her tank top rode up a little until it bunched up just under her breasts. Her bare stomach now pressed against the thin fabric of his undershirt. As she stirred, her hand slid from his hip and came to rest on his upper leg, at which point he became painfully aware of his erection.

 _Shit._

As functionally thick as his pants were, he was still tenting them in an obvious way. If Carol woke up now, she'd notice, and either she'd tease him mercilessly about it, or she'd be afraid he was lusting after her and stop teasing him altogether. He didn't like either of those possibilities, but the second was even worse than the first. He might tell her to stop when she teased him, but there was also something about it that he liked, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was embarrassing and comforting at the same time. It annoyed him even while it made him feel strangely hopeful. Carol was like the light from a prison window. That light might taunt a prisoner with the promise of a freedom he could never obtain, but without it, there was only darkness.

Carol whimpered softly in her sleep, almost like a kitten mewling, but he couldn't tell if the sound was one of need, pain, or pleasure. Cautiously, he drew himself very slowly into a half sitting position so he could stretch to reach the covers and draw them up to hide the evidence of his morning arousal. Carol's head began to slide off his chest as he strained for the blanket, and she opened her eyes at the precise moment he jerked it to his waist.

"What are you doing?" she asked. As the warmth of her body slowly withdrew, he felt like some part of him was being peeled away. "Oh, sorry," she said, now that she had put some distance between them. "Must have cuddled up in my sleep."

"'S a'right," he told her.

"What time is it?"

"Dunno. After sunrise."

"Guess we should get moving." She slid out of bed and pulled on her pants while he averted his eyes. "I'm thinking we should check out that church we passed on the way here." She picked up her outer shirt and worked her way through the arms. "A lot of churches collect diapers and formula for crisis pregnancy centers. Maybe they have some they hadn't gotten around to delivering yet. It's worth a try, anyway."

"Yeah," he agreed, holding the blanket tightly against his waist.

"You coming?" she asked.

That was precisely what he was _not_ doing. "Ya go on down." He closed his eyes and winced as he realized the potential double meaning of what he'd just said. "Be there in a sec. Gotta take a piss."

"I'll fix us some breakfast."

When he was sure Carol was out of sight, he threw off the blanket and made his way to the upstairs hall bathroom. It had no window, so he left the oil lamp on the sink, burning low, while he locked the door. The room was barren except for a hand towel, some fancy dish soap shaped link a pink sea shell, and a cross-stitch plaque that read: _If you sprinkle when you tinkle, please be neat and wipe the seat._

Daryl dropped his pants and boxers to his knees, leaned with one palm flat against the bathroom wall, and took himself in the other. He pictured Carol in only her tank top and panties, and his breathing quickened. He imagined her walking to the nightstand, hips swaying, to take out that purple vibrator from the top drawer. In his mind's eye, she lay back on the king-sized bed and slowly, sexily pleasured herself...

"Oh...holy...fuck!" Daryl's forehead hit the bathroom wall.

His problem of morning wood was now resolved, but the process, as always, left him feeling sheepish. He would die of mortification if Carol ever suspected he sometimes used thoughts of her for this ritual. He usually tried to fantasize about pretty actresses or models, or women he'd admired before the world went to shit - women who were either unreal or long gone - but too often Carol crept into his imaginings. Daryl felt guilty every time he let her.

He grasped the fancy hand towel, snapped it from the ring on which it hung, and wiped away the evidence of his shame.

[*]

"I'm in the dining room," Carol called when she heard him shuffling around in the kitchen.

Daryl emerged cautiously into the room, unable to meet her eyes after what he'd been doing. His vision fell instead on the fancy china. She'd emptied canned peaches in the bowls and poured coke in the tea cups.

"Figured I could be a princess for one morning," she said, and out of the corner of his downcast eyes he saw her pick up a silver fork.

"Looks good." Daryl sat down quickly, seized his fork, and began shoveling the peaches in his mouth.

By the time they began loading the pantry's contents in the trunk of the sedan, however, he was over his embarrassment. As they were working, a few lumbering walkers caught wind of them and began moving their way. "We better pick up the pace," Carol warned him.

"Ya finish loading." Daryl stood guard and picked off the walkers with his crossbow one by one as Carol made one last trip inside to fill a cardboard box. By the time she returned, a larger herd was working its way down from the cul-de-sac. "Hurry up," he warned her.

She thrust the box into the trunk and slammed it shut. Daryl jumped when he felt her hand dive into the pocket of his pants. She drew out the car keys while he shot another walker.

"Come on!" she ordered as she ran for the driver's seat.

He didn't follow right away. Instead, he reclaimed his arrows as more geeks ambled his way, by which time she had started the car. When he jumped in the passenger's side, she peeled off before he could quite close the door. He yanked it shut as she plowed down a walker, thudded over it, and then swerved recklessly around two more. His outer thigh hit the stick shift before he could regain his his balance and plant himself firmly on his seat. "Jesus! Think yer Dale Earnhardt?"

"Hey, don't scold me," she said. "You were the one cutting it close back there."

"Needed my arrows back. Ain't got that many."

Carol shook her head and drove on.

[*]

The large white sign out front read St. Bartholomew's United Methodist Church. Daryl wondered who the hell St. Bartholomew was. Underneath the church name, the movable black letters of the signboard had been rearranged. The unused letters were lined up in a single row at the bottom, and the rest spelled out – "We love unicorns."

Daryl stared at the message. "What the hell does that mean?" he asked.

Carol shrugged. "I guess it means that whoever was playing with the sign loves unicorns."

Three abandoned cars littered the sleepy gravel parking lot. There were no signs of walkers. They climbed the front stairs but found the doors locked. The windows were boarded up, which would make busting in difficult. Someone had been living here at some point, might still be living here - either that, or walking around dead inside.

"I have an idea," Carol said. She led him through the gravel lot.

His eyes swept the ground. "Those tire tracks are fresh," he said. "Someone's been here."

"Then we'll proceed with caution," Carol said. "Not that we wouldn't anyway." She led him around the back of the church and pointed to the fire escape ladder. "We can take that up to the roof, then go down in through the bell tower."

"Who do ya think I am, Tarzan?"

"Chicken." Carol put a booted heel on the first rung of the ladder and began climbing her way up.

He watched her scale the ladder, her lithe form climbing higher and higher, and shook his head. "A'right, Jane!" he called after her. "Wait up."


	9. The Mad Hatter Come to Tea

Daryl looked down at the long rope leading from the bell between the open beams to the unfinished floor below. There did appear to be a door down there that might get them into the church. "I'll go first," he said. He didn't want her to think he was chicken. "But I ain't done this since 9th grade gym class." He'd stopped going to high school the next year.

"Down is so much easier than up," she replied. "And I _always_ got to the top of the rope in gym class and rung the bell."

He bet she did. She was stronger than he'd guessed at first, and she didn't have a lot of weight to pull, probably had even less as a teenage girl. The girls had always been better than the boys at rope climbing, anyway. Daryl had always been muscular, but he'd been clumsy in high school, and that rope had swung every which way beneath his weight when he tried to scale it. He could hear the girls snickering on the mats below every time he went up. He'd hated gym, hated all the stupid exercises, the team sports, the coaches screaming in your face.

It wasn't that Daryl didn't love being physical - he was happy to hike for hours, climb hills and rocks, scale trees for a vantage point, swim in the lake - he just didn't see the point of jumping jacks or crunches, of throwing a ball through a hoop or trying to tackle some dumb ass guy before he reached a painted white line in the grass. The only good thing about the rope climbing was that he got to watch from below as the girls shimmied up in their tight little gym shorts. He was sure all of them ordered those shorts two sizes too small just to mess with his mind. He wondered what Carol would look like, going up a rope in nothing but a short, tight pair of... _Jesus_ , he cursed himself. _What's wrong with you? Focus, man._

Daryl hated it when he caught himself thinking about Carol that way, because he thought she deserved better than some loser's dirty thoughts. She was beautiful and forgiving and quietly strong, always working to serve others without asking for much in return. She was like steel encased in velvet, strong at the core but strangely and wondrously soft to the touch. He wished he'd just kissed her when she'd dared him to, kissed her for real, even if she was just giving him shit. Like a damn fool, he'd let that opportunity slip right between his fingers. He could have done it, enjoyed it, and pretended it was only because she'd dared him to, and not because he'd thought about it before.

"I can go first if you're worried," she told him.

"No! I'll go!" he insisted. He looked up at the bell. "I just ain't sure 'bout ringin' that thing. Might draw the geeks."

"It's badly rusted, Daryl. And you've got to really yank hard and out on that rope to ring it in the first place. If you just go straight down, it'll be fine."

He sat on the wooden ledge of the bell tower, grabbed hold of the rope, and began to lower himself down. The bell did move enough for the clapper to strike the sound bow, but it made more of a dull thud than a ring. When he was at the bottom, he coughed on a cloud of dust.

Daryl looked up to see Carol's boots dangling from the ledge. "You almost lost your crossbow going down," she called to him. "Catch my rifle."

She removed the chambered bullet and the magazine, put them in a pocket of her cargo pants, and then tossed the rifle down to him. He caught it and then propped it against a beam before turning to look back up at her. Carol began to shimmy down the rope. Her light weight swung the clapper a lot less than his mass had, and there wasn't even so much as a thud. But halfway down, she lost her grip and slid rapidly, burning her hands against the rope painfully enough that she let go in the last few feet. Daryl caught her in his arms, held her to his chest for a moment while catching his startled breath, and then set her on her feet.

"Fancy meeting you here," she said.

He took hold of her hands, turned them over, and looked at the bright red burn marks. "Shit."

"Well, at least I got to fall into a man's arms for once in my life." She smiled.

"This ain't the time nor the place to be practicn' yer flirtin', woman."

She looked up at the rusty silver bell and the open beams of the loft area. "Actually, I think it's very romantic."

"C'mon."

He saw her wince as she grabbed her rifle in her raw palm. She pretended not to be in pain as she slid the magazine back in and made sure the rifle was ready to fire.

"Get some aloe on that when we get back to the car," he said. They had a first aid kit in the trunk.

They ended up exiting the bell tower into a dark, windowless hall that led to another door which emptied out into what Carol called "the sacristy." Daryl had no idea what all the fancy church terms were. He just knew it must be the room where the church people put on their robes, because there were a bunch of white robes hanging from a free standing rack in there. "What's with all the scarves?" he asked.

"They're stoles. The deacons and elders wear them."

"Maybe we can snag some wine while we's here," he suggested.

"Methodists use grape juice."

"Well screw them then," he said.

"Thanks a lot. I am one."

"I didn't know that. Thought you was a Baptist."

"Well, Baptists don't use wine either," she informed him. "And why would you think I was Baptist?"

"'Cause it's Georgia."

"Well, I _grew up_ Methodist anyway. Ed decided we should stop going to church two years after we got married."

"Why?" Daryl asked.

"He said it was because the Reverend was a bad Christian and having an affair with the organist, but I think it was because the man started asking Ed uncomfortable questions about my bruises."

Daryl's back teeth ground against each other, but he didn't say anything.

They exited the sacristy onto the stage. The sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, scattering fuzzy, colored light throughout the sanctuary. Walking through the light was like walking through a bright fog.

They cautiously swept the sanctuary and then made their way out to the foyer. Carol pointed under a display table near the front door. "See! Told you so."

Under the table was a large cardboard box with a printed paper sign that read, "Donations: Happy Lives Crisis Pregnancy Center." Inside were three packages of diapers, four cans of formula, and two boxes of baby wipes.

"Yer a genius," he told her with a smile.

He walked to the front door, unlocked it, and was about to open it so they could take the box outside when she said, "Let's check the church nursery first. They might have some formula, too.

They followed the signs on the walls to the _Sunday School Wing_. The red plush carpet became tiled hallway. They passed several closed doors, each labeled with a grade range. Daryl came to a sudden stop when he heard a strange noise arise from the door marked "4th and 5th graders."

Carol caught his eyes. "That was a girl's laugh," she said.

He nodded. Daryl leveled his crossbow while Carol flung open the door. A sudden gasp arose from inside.

Light streamed down from three high, non-boarded windows as Daryl entered the room behind Carol. Sitting at a classroom table were two little girls with dirty blonde hair. A toy tea set was arranged between them. The littlest girl tightly gripped the handle of her white flowered cup. She looked from Carol's rifle to Daryl's crossbow and trembled.

The older girl, however, sat calmly with the spout of the tea pot tilted over her open cup, pouring air. She looked straight into Daryl's eyes. "If you're the Mad Hatter come to tea," she said, "you better take a seat. It's getting cold."


	10. Heading Home

"Y'all alone here?" Daryl asked them.

"At the moment," the taller one said.

The little one hissed, "No, Lizzie! Don't tell them!"

Lizzie set the tea pot down on the table. She lay her hands palm down on its surface and looked at her sister. "Mika, let me handle this." She turned her gaze to Daryl. There was something off about her eyes. They looked too old for her face, and there was a jaded light in them. "Our father has lots of guns, and he'll be back any minute now, so you had better not try to hurt us."

Daryl and Carol shoulder their weapons. "We don't want to hurt you, honey," Carol said.

"Where's yer daddy at?" Daryl asked.

"He went to find food," Lizzie replied. "Now are you going to sit down to tea or not?"

Daryl looked at Carol. Carol shrugged. Daryl pulled out a chair from the table next to Mika. It was a small chair, designed for a six to ten year old, and he felt like an awkward giant when he planted his ass on it. Lizzie pretended to pour him a cup of tea and then pushed it over to him.

"Ain't I gonna get any cookies with this?" he asked.

Mika nervously picked up a fake plastic tea cookie. It trembled in her hand as she set it down on his saucer.

"Mhmmm…" he murmured. He picked it up and pretended to chew on it. "How many guns yer daddy have?" he asked.

"More than you," Lizzie said disdainfully. She looked from Carol's rifle to his crossbow. "You only have one."

They had three, actually. He and Carol each had a handgun on their belts concealed by their long button-down shirts, but he didn't tell Lizzie that. "When's he gettin' back?"

"Now," Lizzie said, looking over Carol's shoulder toward the hallway.

Daryl followed her gaze to find a balding, brown-bearded man standing in the door frame. He was leveling a wooden .22 rifle, a bit shakily, at Daryl, his eyes flitting frantically about the scene. He must have returned and found the front door unlocked. Daryl had left it slightly ajar when Carol distracted him with the idea of finding the nursery. Daryl supposed the girls usually let their father back in when he'd been out scavenging.

Daryl slowly raised his hands. He stood, and, hands still raised, turned to face the drawn rifle. "We ain't bad people."

Carol raised her hands as well. "We just came here looking for formula. We have a baby back in our camp."

"Mika, Lizzie," the man ordered. "Get behind me. Now!"

Mika was clearly alarmed by the fear in her father's voice and dashed out of her chair and behind him the hallway. Lizzie was more languid in her rising, and she shot Daryl an _I-told-you-so_ look as she walked out into the hallway.

"I could shoot you right now," the man said.

"You could," Carol said calmly. "But we both have weapons we can get to quickly. If you shoot one of us, the other one's going to go for a weapon and kill you while you're doing it, and your little girls are going to see two completely unnecessary deaths. Including yours."

"No!" Mika shouted.

"Lower your gun, and let's _talk_ ," Carol insisted.

The man looked from Carol to Daryl and then back. He let out a shaky breath and lowered his weapon. "So talk," he said.

Carol extended her hand. "I'm Carol."

The man shook cautiously. "Ryan Samuels."

Carol put a hand on Dary's shoulder. "And this is Daryl Dixon."

Ryan nodded to him.

"How many are in your camp?" Carol asked.

"We had fourteen when we left Jacksonville," Ryan answered, wrapping one arm around Mika, who had attached herself to his hip.

"Ya come all the way from Florida?" Daryl asked.

"We heard there was a cure at the CDC in Atlanta. But when we got there…it was just gone. The whole things was just...blown up."

Daryl glanced at Carol. That seemed a lifetime ago. Sophia was still alive. So were Lori and Shane, Dale, Andrea, and T-Dog. They drank and laughed and were just starting to hope when it all came to a screeching halt. That's how it was in this world. Just when you began to think you might have a chance...

"Six of our people were killed on the way from Florida. The rest when we were trying to get out of Atlanta. Me and the girls…we're all that's left."

"How many walkers have ya killed?" Daryl asked.

"How many what?" Ryan asked.

"Walkers," Daryl repeated.

"What the hell is a walker?"

"You know, these things that are lurchin' 'round all over the damn place?"

"Oh. We call them the Diseased."

"Well, how many of the Diseased have ya killed?" Daryl asked.

"Me personally, or our group?"

Daryl was getting irritated. "You personally."

"I don't know. Five maybe. We just try to avoid them most of the time."

"You shouldn't hurt them if you don't have to," Lizzie insisted.

"Shh!" her father told her, and Lizzie leaned against the frame of the open doorway.

Daryl looked at the girl curiously. What had she meant by that? Probably that it was better to avoid them so you didn't get bit or killed trying to kill them, and that probably was the best course for a girl her size and age. It wasn't as if Sophia had gone around stabbing walkers...though, then again, if she had, she might still be alive. Daryl returned his attention to Ryan. "How many people have you killed?"

"Why are you asking me this?"

"Because we want to get to know you," Carol said.

"That's a strange way of getting to know someone," Ryan replied. "Usually you ask, you know, what's your favorite food and things like that."

"How many people have you killed?" Daryl repeated.

Ryan turned. "Girls, go wait down the hall a little ways." The girls retreated. Ryan turned back. In a low voice he said, "One."

"Why?" Daryl asked.

"Because he was caught raping a woman in our camp. He was one of ours, had been with us since Jacksonville, but we all decided...we had a trial of sorts. We agreed...he was a threat, and he had to go."

"And why was you the one chosen to execute 'em?" Daryl asked.

Ryan looked down at the floor at gritted his teeth.

"'Cause it was yer wife?"

Ryan swallowed. "Afterwards...a few days later...she killed herself. The girls don't know how she died. They don't know any of it. They _can't_ know."

Carol took in a shaky breath, and Daryl caught her eyes. She nodded to him.

"We got a place," Daryl said. "A prison. Secure. Gated up. Lots of people. Other kids, too. Some stored food. We's even growin' some crops now. Ya want to come back with us?"

[*]

The trunk was already nearly full from the items they'd found in the pantry, so they began loading things in the back seat. They'd pillaged the church of anything useful, and a few things that weren't. Daryl had snagged a pacifier, two rattles, a teddy bear, a stuffed rabbit, a play mat, and a bouncy seat.

"Don't you think you're going a little overboard?" Carol asked him as he crammed it all in the back seat.

"Little Ass Kicker deserves some toys," he insisted. "Promised her Uncle Daryl'd bring her somethin'."

Carol smiled.

Next, Daryl helped Ryan load the trunk of his own car. The girls slid into the backseat of their gray sedan while Daryl closed the trunk and turned to Ryan. "That all yer shit?" he asked. "Where's the other guns?"

"What guns?" Ryan replied, nodding to the rifle on his shoulder. "This is my only gun."

Daryl glanced at Lizzie through the rear windshield. "Yer daughter's got quite the poker face," Daryl told him. "Had me convinced ya had more."

"Yeah, well, that's Lizzie. She's hard to read." Ryan smiled a strange, sad smile that made Daryl shoot another look at Lizzie.

"Y'all stay close," he told Ryan. "And flash yer lights if yer fixin' to stop for any reason."

[*]

"Those girls are adorable." Carol glanced in the rearview mirror as she drove.

Daryl had the passenger's seat popped all the way back so he could stretch his legs. "Yeah, but there's somethin' off 'bout that Lizzie, don't ya think?"

"She's outlived eleven members of her camp, including her own mother. Of course there's something off about her. There's something off about all of us."

"Weren't even scared of me when I walked in that room. Asked me to sit for tea."

"I'll need to teach her to be more cautious, that's for sure," Carol said.

"Is that what ya do durin' story time? Teach the kids to be more _cautious_?"

She shot him a surprised look.

"Patrick told me, 'bout how ya train 'em."

"Don't tell Rick."

"Why ya care so much what _Rick_ thinks of you?" he asked, a little peevishly.

"I don't. It's just...he's been living in fairy land lately. He thinks he's a farmer now. He thinks we can just...lay down roots."

"And ya don't?" Daryl asked.

Carol glanced at him quickly and then returned her eyes to the road. "Do _you_?"

"I think yer right to train them kids. They need to know how to survive. There's always gonna be threats. But I think Rick's right to farm too. This prison's the most secure place we been yet. Hell, it's the longest I've stayed in one place in years." It was also the only place he'd ever felt like he was respected.

"I didn't say he was wrong to farm. We need food. I just think he's gone a bit soft. If he knew I was teaching the little ones to kill, he might object."

"Rick ain't a dumb ass. Ya know, he's smart _and_ well-toned."

Carol chuckled. "I really _don't_ have a secret crush on Rick."

"Good," he said, and realize that might have made him sound possessive. "Because, uh...think Michonne might."

"Well I certainly wouldn't want to compete with Michonne for a man's affections." She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "I'd lose that fight for sure."

"Why?"

She laughed and shook her head.

He glanced in the rear view mirror to check on Ryan's car. In the back seat, Mika appeared to be singing, while Lizzie was rolling her eyes. "Why?" he repeated.

"Because she's gorgeous and strong and self-confident and..." Carol shrugged.

"Yer plenty pretty and strong."

"You think so?" she asked.

How could Carol not know these things about herself? "Of course."

She smiled, that little smile that always made the moths flutter in his stomach, just one side of her mouth, a little happy, a little sad.

In the rear view mirror, Ryan's high beams flashed on and off. Carol slowed the car to the stop. A foggy cloud of gray smoke rose from the engine of Ryan's car.

"Shit," Daryl muttered.

They siphoned off his gas into their car, abandoned the bouncy seat at the side of the road, rearranged the items in the trunk, strapped some things to the roof, and piled Ryan and the girls into the backseat before driving on.

[*]

 **A/N:** _I realize Mika and Lizzie may have been refugees from Woodbury, and that's probably the general assumption, but I don't recall that being explicitly said, and we know Daryl brought in several people between Season 3 and 4, so this is my imagining for how they joined the camp. If it was said they were from Woodbury, and I missed it...ooops. Thanks for the reviews. I love hearing what y'all think!_


	11. A Hint of Jealousy

Daryl introduced Ryan and the girls to Rick and then led them to a cell. "I'll bring in another mattress for y'all." There was just the two bunk beds, but he figured Ryan would want them to stick together. Daryl sure as hell would, if he had daughters to protect.

"It's so small," Mika complained.

"Well, we're only going to sleep here," her father told her. "There's lots of room in the prison, and there's a library, and outside there's a canteen and you can go visit the pig."

"I liked the church better," Lizzie said. "It wasn't so dank. And we slept in a really big room."

"It's better to be here," Ryan assured them. "There's lots of food, and running water, and other people. There's safety in numbers. I won't have to leave you locked in alone to go looking for food anymore."

"Well…uh…y'all start gettin' settled," Daryl said, "and I'll go get ya that other mattress."

He walked down to Beth's cell, because he knew she was bunking alone and would have an extra mattress. Zach wasn't bunking with her, but they were probably fooling around from time to time. Daryl didn't know how Hershel handled that. That man was so mild. If Daryl had a teenage girl, he'd be keeping a suspicious eye on any boy who talked to her. Beth wasn't even his, and he was already keeping a suspicious eye on Zach. But the truth was, Zach was all right. He seemed respectful enough. He was friendly without being too annoying.

Daryl leaned against the metal edge of the open cell door and cleared his throat. Beth was sitting at her little desk and writing in her journal. He wondered what she wrote in there. All her feelings about Zach, probably. Maybe song lyrics. She turned and smiled. She always had a pretty, friendly smile for him that made him feel like a welcomed big brother. It was strange, feeling so welcomed by someone so innocent, someone who, in the old world, should have been terrified by him.

"Need a mattress," he said. "We got new refugees."

"Oh yeah?" she asked. "Any cute guys?'

"Hmph. Ya got a boyfriend."

"Just because you're on a diet…" she said, and lay her pen down. She stood and slid her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. When she did, he noticed to her left a white sign board propped up on a stand. It read: _The Workplace. 24 days without an accident._ The numbers were removable.

"What's that 'bout?" he asked.

Beth glanced at the board. "Oh, I found it in the warden's office. Just thought it would be fun. I started it twenty-eight days ago, but a few days in, I had to reset it. One of the cleaners got a little too close to the fence and got his pinky bit. Daddy had to amputate it."

"Dumb ass," Daryl muttered.

"Don't be mean," she said softly.

Daryl hated when she scolded him like that, hated it because she was probably right, he probably shouldn't go around calling people dumb asses just because they _were_ dumb asses. It wasn't nice. And Beth was nice. She was sweetness and light, and sometimes that annoyed the ever living shit out of him. And sometimes…sometimes it made him think that maybe they all had a chance to do more than just survive. Maybe Carl had a chance to grow up to become a man and a farmer, and maybe Little Ass Kicker had a chance to become a pretty teenager like Beth, and maybe Beth had a chance to one day marry Zach and make babies with him, and maybe he and Carol had a chance to…well, he wouldn't let his mind go there. He'd already been given more than he'd ever dared hope for from Carol – friendship, forgiveness, trust, and affection. He wasn't going to jinx that by wishing for more.

"Need that mattress," he said.

She nodded to the bunk. "Help yourself. You'll have to get the sheets from the laundry room."

"Sure Carol'll make it up for 'em."

"You know, you could make it up for them," Beth said. "Instead of making Carol do all the menial work."

"Ain't nothin' menial 'bout any of the work Carol does."

"I wasn't belittling her," Beth insisted. "That's not what I meant. We all need Carol. Just like we all need you."

Needed him? He couldn't think of any other time in his life when so many people had thought they _needed_ him. He felt a little overwhelmed by the thought, the thought of _mattering_ to people. He pushed himself off of the bars where he was leaning and grabbed hold of the mattress.

[*]

Carol was making up the top bed of the bunk in Ryan's cell when she heard a noise and looked over to see Daryl dragging the mattress in. He lay the mattress on the ground perpendicular to the bunks to allow room for getting in and out. "Where they at?" he asked.

"Went to the canteen to get a hot meal. Patrick's frying up some Spam for lunch."

"Bet he don't make it like you do."

She chuckled as she slid a pillow case over a thin pillow. She appreciated the compliment, even if it was a little silly. "There's only so much you can do with Spam." She lay the pillow on the bed and smoothed out the sheets.

Carol felt another presence and turned to see one of Michonne's dark hands gripping a thick bar of the cell. Michonne nodded to her and Carol nodded back. Carol had nothing against Michonne, but she still didn't feel like she really knew the woman. Michonne wasn't quite part of the nuclear family yet – the core circle of trust - as far as Carol was concerned, but Daryl seemed to treat her as though she was. Carol was willing to trust his judgment on the matter, assuming that judgment wasn't clouded by his attraction to the woman.

"Yer still here?" Daryl asked.

"Headed out after lunch," Michonne replied. "Just needed a couple of days to rest up and study the routes. I've been looking at the map. We haven't checked out Peachtree City yet."

"It ain't even clear he headed east."

"Well, I figure it's worth a try."

Carol busied herself with making up the bed on the bottom bunk and tried not to sneak glances at them as they talked. Daryl put a hand on the bar to the left of the one Michonne was gripping. Their hands were awfully close together. "Don't like the idea of you goin' out there alone, no backup."

Michonne flashed her pearly whites. "Then come with me, cowboy."

 _Cowboy?_ Carol thought. _Cowboy?_ What the hell was that? Cowboy was what you called a man you wanted to fuck. She snapped the sheet out violently on top of the mattress. The sound was distinguishable enough that Daryl and Michonne both glanced at her. Carol pretended not to notice and began roughly tucking the sheet in under the mattress.

"Cain't," Daryl said. "We's almost out of canned meat. These kids need protein. Got to go huntin' tomorrow. I'm the only one who's really good at it. I just don't think you should go. Stay here for once. Help out _here_. Ya'd make a hell of a cleaner."

"I can't," she said. "You know I can't."

"Let it go," Daryl insisted. He leaned a little closer, too close for Carol's comfort, and lowered his voice. "I know how angry ya are. Asshole killed my _brother_ , and believe me…I'd love to find him and slit his throat. But this thirst for revenge'll eat ya alive."

"It's not about revenge," Michonne insisted. "I'm telling you, he's regrouping. He's plotting. He _will_ come after us."

"Yeah, well, we'll be ready if'n he does."

Michonne pushed off the bar and shook her head. "Goodbye, Carol," she said. "Thanks for all the food you two brought back. Rick said I could take some for the road."

Carol stood up straight and turned to face her. "Good luck to you," she said.

Michonne nodded to Daryl and then strutted down the hall. He rubbed his temple. "Hope she comes back alive," he muttered.

"She's important to you," Carol said quietly.

He turned and looked at her. "I ain't never had a lot of friends," he said. "The one's I got, they's all important to me." He looked right into her eyes when he said that, like he was trying to make a point he couldn't put into words.

Carol smiled and went back to making the bed.


	12. Chapter 12

As Carol made her way toward Daryl's cell, she passed Beth's and saw the girl's workplace sign: _26 Days without an accident_. Beth smiled, said hello, and then lowered her privacy curtain for the night. Carol had made a sturdy curtain for every cell from sheets, blankets, shower curtains, and other such materials.

Daryl was sitting barefoot on his bunk in his brown muscle shirt and pants, cleaning the caked-on blood off the tips of his arrows with a rag and rubbing alcohol.

He looked up and through the bars – he didn't have his privacy curtain down – and his eyes fell on the plate she was holding. On top of it rested a small square of yellow, spongey cake. In the center she'd put a blue and white candle.

"Happy Birthday!" she cried cheerfully.

He tilted his head down and smiled.

"Everyone should have birthday cake at least once in their lives." She came inside, reached into her pants pocket, pulled out a lighter, and lit the candle. "Want me to sing Happy Birthday?"

"Please don't."

"You at least have to blow out your candle," she insisted.

"I'm turnin' one?"

"It's about time."

Daryl leaned forward and blew. The flame flickered and died. He shoved the arrow he was holding in his quiver and took the plate from her hands. "How'd ya bake it?"

Their food was usually cooked on the coal grill in the canteen or on kerosene camp stoves. While they had intermittent power in some areas from generators, they were unable to use the prison ovens. "I took a toy Easy Bake Oven from one of the Sunday School classrooms back at that church. It still had mixes and decorating gel. The oven uses a light bulb to bake. I always wanted one when I was a little girl."

She took the chair out from under his corner desk and noted with curiosity the contents of his desktop – a black sharpie, a yellow highlighter, a pencil, two maps that had been marked up with his notes about good and bad hunting grounds, and a stack of three, dog-eared paperback novels by Louis L'Amour.

"You like westerns?" she asked as she turned the chair to face him and sat down.

He'd taken the candle out of the cake and was examining the top. She'd written _Happy B-day_ in flowery cursive with red decorating gel, because there hadn't been room to spell out the entire word birthday.

"They's a'right, I guess. Ain't too long. No pictures though."

"Don't play dumb," Carol insisted. "My mother taught me to do that. She said no man would ever want me if I acted too big for my britches. And look who I ended up married to."

"My mama used to say that. Anytime anyone in the extended family'd leave and make somethin' of 'emselves - they's gettin' too big for their britches."

"Did you have a big extended family?"

"My mama had two sisters and two half-brothers. My daddy had two brothers and three half-sisters. And I had a shitload of cousins. Couple of my aunts moved outta them backwoods, and maybe three of my cousins, but most of 'em stayed. Hell, the Dixons and Clarks might still be livin' deep in them woods for all I know. Me and Merle was gonna go back and check eventually." He picked up the piece of cake she'd brought him.

"Wow. A niece and a gaggle of cousins. You've got a lot of DNA that could still be running around out there."

"Mhm. But I guess DNA don't make a family." Daryl took a bite of the cake, which, given its small size, meant he consumed half the square. He murmured his approval, and when he was done eating the entire thing, he licked his fingers, one by one by one, making a low _Mmmmmm_ sound while he did so.

Carol had to look away for a moment. When it sounded like he was done licking, she turned back. "What do you mean by that?"

"That maybe you was right. Merle was my brother, but he weren't good for me. Think maybe the closest thing to family I ever had...it's right here. 'Tween these prison walls."

Carol felt a tender mix of sympathy and happiness at his self-discovery. On the one hand, she was glad he was beginning to see this hodge podge of co-survivors as his family, but on the other, she was sad that he'd never before experienced the kind of respect or affection that made him feel like he was part of a family.

"Thanks," he said. "Best cake I ever et."

"I doubt that. And it wasn't exactly my recipe. Do you really not know when your birthday is?"

"March sometime. Learned that when I got my license. Had to go down to the court house to get my birth certificate 'fore I could get it. Don't recall the exact day or year."

He stood, walked over, and set the plate down on the desk.

"Want to play some more truth or dare?" she asked.

He grunted.

"Please? I'm not tired enough for bed yet, and all the women I usually talk to have already pulled down their privacy curtains."

"You and yer damn games."

"Did you have something better to do?"

He sat back down on his bed on the bottom bunk, facing her. It squeaked. "Fine. Truth or dare?"

"Truth," she said.

"How're yer hands doin' with that rope burn?"

"They're fine now." She turned her palms out to show him that the flesh color was coming back. "I just kept putting aloe on them. But that's a really _boring_ truth question. Truth or dare?"

"I ain't doin' any dares tonight. Too many people. Someone might see me."

"You're no fun."

"For all I know, ya'll dare me to streak down the cell block."

"That _was_ my plan," she said with a light smile.

"Ain't like ya'd take that dare neither."

"Probably not," she admitted. "So you want a truth then?"

"A'right." He snatched an arrow out of his quiver, she thought, just so he'd have something to fiddle with.

"Do you go to sleep in your pants even when no one's around?"

"Yep," he answered.

"Why?"

"Well, what if some shit goes down in the middle of the night? Ain't got time to put my pants on."

"What about your leather jacket, though? You don't sleep in that."

"Ain't got to put that on if the shit hits the fan. Cool as it is, it don't actually give me superpowers."

Carol chuckled. "Well, you _do_ look good in leather."

Daryl ducked his head. "Stop."

"My turn."

He looked back up at her. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare."

"Hmmm…" He turned the arrow over and tapped his lips with the tail. "Dare ya to sneak up on Glenn and scare 'em."

"No. I'll get killed!"

"Oh. Yeah. Ya's probably right. Then I dare ya to go bake me another piece of cake."

"There's only two mixes left, and I gave the oven to Mika and Lizzie. You're terrible at this game."

He shrugged. "I ain't a schoolgirl. These ain't the kind of games I played growin' up."

"What games _did_ you play?" she asked.

"That my truth?"

"We aren't playing truth or dare anymore. We're just talking now."

He put his bare foot up on his knee and scratched his ankle with the tail of the arrow. "Well, mostly just wrestled or boxed with my cousins. Had plinkin' contests. Raced bikes."

"Bicycles or motorcycles?"

"Bicycles 'til I's eleven. Then motorcycles."

"You got your first motorcycle when you were eleven?"

"Used Merle's. He was in juvie then, so he didn't exactly miss it. Then he signed up with the army later, so…I had his bike 'til he got discharged."

"Were you even tall enough to ride when you were eleven?" Carol was trying to picture a child-sized Daryl. She couldn't imagine him as a young boy.

"Couldn't do it flat footed, but I managed on my toes."

"Did you win?"

"Not often. I's the youngest."

Silence descended between them for a while as he looked down and toyed with his arrow. Carol was thinking they _needed_ a game to talk. Daryl didn't speak unless he had a _reason_ to speak. A game gave him that reason. "Why don't we do a round of two truths and a lie before bed?"

He sighed, but he didn't refuse. "A'right. Ya first."

"I once snuck into an R rated movie when I was 15."

Daryl snorted.

"What's so funny?"

"Just…ya say it like it was real naughty."

"Well, it was a big deal for me. I always towed the line."

"So that one's true."

"You tricked me!" she complained. "Now I have to start over. Let's see…my favorite children's book was _Harold and the Purple Crayon_. My favorite class in high school was Home Ec. And I used to secretly water down Ed's whiskey so he wouldn't spend so much money on drinking."

Daryl's brow furrowed. "Well, the Home Ec one's gotta be true. Don't matter how much you water down the whiskey. Man needs as much as a man needs to get drunk, so…don't know why ya'd do that. Guess the Crayon one."

She shook her head. "I thought it would save at least a _little_ money," she said. "And we were in so much debt. I was desperate to save money. The Home Ec class was the lie."

"What?" Daryl's voice rose with disbelief.

"It was so boring because I already knew how to do everything better than the teacher."

Daryl nodded and smiled. She waited for him to take his turn, giving him an expectant look.

He studied his arrow for a while, turning it back and forth in his hand, until he finally said, "Cain't think of anythin'."

Carol sighed. "Fine. I'll leave you alone. I suppose I've tried your patience long enough." She stood up, but when she was at the cell door, he called her name. She turned.

"Thanks again for the cake."

She smiled. "You're welcome. You have a goodnight." She reached her hand up over the doorway to the cell. "Do you want me to put this curtain down?" She'd made him one that was entirely brown. She was afraid if it had anything decorative at all, he'd grumble.

"Mhmm."

Carol yanked it down on her way out, and it billowed lightly behind her as she made her way back to her own cell.


	13. Movie Night

Carol was feeling pleasantly satisfied. Daryl had brought back a deer this afternoon, and for once, they hadn't needed to walk away from dinner slightly hungry just to make sure the food stretched to feed everyone. After showering in the women's room, she toweled off and pulled on her underwear, tank top, and athletic shorts. With a little water still dripping from her hair, she made her way past the cells. She said goodnight to Lizzie and Mika and was rewarded with a big smile from the youngest girl, who was lying on her stomach on the mattress on the floor and drawing pictures on a sketch pad.

Carol passed several other cells before coming upon Beth's. The teenager was writing in her journal again, and the sign she'd brought in from the warden's office read: _29 days without an accident._ "Are you going to switch that over?"

"I do it in the morning," Beth told her.

Carol smiled and told her goodnight. Once in her own cell, she lowered the privacy curtain, switched on her lamp, picked up her heavy paperback book, and settled onto her bunk to read. She'd made it about two pages in when she heard the sound of a throat clearing near the door to her cell. "Come in, Daryl," she called, knowing instantly it was him. He was the only one who announced himself that way.

The privacy curtain fluttered back from the open entryway to the cell, and he crept inside. No matter how many times he entered her cell, he always did it in that same quiet, shuffling, hesitant way, casting his eyes to the ground. Carol looked at his hand, which was pressed strangely against his leather vest over a lump. "What do you have in there?"

"Gift," he said. "Still got that portable DVD player?"

"Yeah," she answered, smiling with surprise and curiosity.

He slid his other hand into his vest and pulled out a DVD case and handed it to her. On the front was a smiling Audrey Hepburn, with her arms wrapped around a well dressed Gregory Peck as they rode a scooter through the streets of Rome. "My favorite!" she exclaimed. She'd told him that during their game of two truths and a lie on the prison tower.

"Mhmhm. That's why I brought it to ya."

She tossed her book aside on the nightstand, got down on her haunches, yanked a cardboard box out from under her bed, and rummaged through it. She stood with the portable DVD player in her hand. "Where'd you find it?"

"Warden's office. Bunch of DVDs in there. Guess they used to show 'em to the prisoners in the common room."

"I can't imagine a bunch of hardened criminals watching _Roman Holiday_ ," she said.

He took a step back toward the cell door. "You...uh...enjoy."

"Aren't you going to stay and watch it with me?"

He shifted on his feet.

"Romantic movie night," she teased with a smile.

"Stop."

"Come on. Movies are no fun to watch alone. And when was the last time you saw one?"

She expected another protest and another round of pleading before he agreed, but he surprised her by immediately saying, "A'right. I'll go get the popcorn."

"Popcorn?" she asked, but he'd already vanished.

When he returned with a camp stove and one of those Jiffy Pop aluminum pan things, she realized he'd been planning to join her all along. "Where'd you score the Jiffy Pop?" she asked as he began to ignite the stove.

"Was in that pantry at that house."

"I didn't see it. You must have packed that box." Carol's mouth watered at the thought of hot, oily popcorn. She couldn't remember the last time she'd tasted freshly popped corn. She centered a nightstand in front of her bunk, set the DVD player on it, and loaded the movie while Daryl lit the stove and got the popcorn going.

She'd just gotten past the opening credits and pressed pause to wait for him to finish and join her when Tyreese, handgun drawn and eyes wide with alarm, burst into her cell. He glanced at the Jiffy Pop, which was now beginning to slow between pops, and lowered his gun. "Christ, man!" Tyreese half yelled at Daryl. "Warn a guy when you're popping that shit, why don't you?" He then looked straight at Carol. "Sorry, ma'am, for my language."

Carol laughed. She knew why he'd apologized. They'd broth grown up in families where it was considered crass for a man to swear in front of a woman, but that all seemed so silly now, here in the trenches of a post-apocalyptic world.

"I thought it was gunshots," Tyreese said.

Daryl turned off the stove, took the now popped corn off its top, and stood. "That'd be some damn strange soundin' gunshots," he muttered. "Maybe ya oughta get yer ears checked."

"Sorry," Tyreese apologized, but as he stepped back, he looked from the popcorn to the DVD player. "Where'd you get all that?"

"Ain't yours," Daryl said.

"Daryl," Carol scolded.

"Well it ain't."

"I'll be happy to lend you the DVD player tomorrow if you'd like to watch a movie with Karen," Carol told him.

"Thanks," he said, and holstered his gun. He nodded to her and then to Daryl. "Goodnight."

When Tyreese was gone, Carol teased, "Aww, Pookie, were you afraid he was going to try to stay and ruin our romantic date night?"

Daryl grunted. Holding the Jiffy Pop by its handle, he tried to peel back the aluminum cover and singed his fingers. He shoved them quickly in his mouth and sucked.

"Wait for it to cool, Einstein," Carol told him.

She eased down on her bunk and then scooted back until she was leaning against the wall. Daryl plopped down next to her, and the bed creaked and shifted. His shoulder was an inch from hers against the wall. He was still sucking on the fingers of his one hand while holding the Jiffy Pop handle in the other. She leaned forward and pressed play.

A few minutes into the movie, Daryl risked opening the lid. The delicious scent of oil and corn tickled Carol's nostrils. "One at a time," she insisted. "We have to savor this."

"Ain't nobody eats popcorn one at a time."

"Well _we_ do tonight. You made me chug the wine. You're going to let me savor this."

He shook his head, but then he plucked one piece from the tin. After every piece he ate, he would lick his fingers. Carol tried to keep her eyes on the movie, but she kept glancing at him as those long fingers slid in and out of his mouth. She also looked at him every time he chuckled, low and manfully, at something in the movie. It wasn't often Carol go to see Daryl amused.

Despite her plan to savor the popcorn, she ended up switching from one kernel at a time to two and then three, and it disappeared too quickly. They had already finished the Jiffy Pop by the time they reached the scene where a woozy Audrey Hepburn appropriates Gregory Peck's bed and he, frustrated, transfers her to the couch.

"Dumb ass," Daryl muttered. "Wouldn't kick her out my bed."

Carol laughed. "Yeah? You like Audrey Hepburn, do you?"

"Hell yeah," he said. "Like the short hair. It's sexy."

Was Daryl actually _flirting_ with her? Carol touched the back of her own short hair gently. He didn't seem to notice her doing so, and she decided he hadn't been connecting the two. Carol dropped her hand back to the bed. "Well, I think Gregory Peck's sexy."

"'Cause ya like a clean-cut man? Suit, neat hair, all that?"

"No. Because I like a man with a deep, sexy voice."

Daryl didn't say _stop._ He didn't react at all. Maybe he was not aware that he had a deep, sexy voice.

As the movie wore on, Daryl kicked off his boots, peeled off his socks, and shoved them inside. He also shed his leather jacket and draped it over the edge of the bunk.

"Make yourself at home," she joked, secretly pleased that he _was_ making himself at home.

"Well, yer practically in yer skivvies."

Carol slid a little closer to him and, ever so cautiously, tilted her head toward him. He was once again wearing that brown shirt of his, with the sleeves jaggedly cut off. When her head touched his bare shoulder, he flinched instinctively but then quickly stilled. Daryl glanced down at her head on his shoulder but didn't say anything about it, so she left it there.

A few minutes later, he shifted slightly and she felt something poking her in the hip. "Is that a gun, or are you just happy to see me?"

"Sorry," Daryl muttered. He stood, unclipped his handgun, knife, and flashlight from his belt, and set them on her cell floor before sitting down next to her again. She settled her head right back on his shoulder. He didn't protest.

They were now at the scene where the characters were scootering around town. Daryl nodded to the Vespa on the screen. "Gayest motorcycle I ever saw."

"I think it's cute," Carol said, raising her head from off his shoulder. She wished he'd put his arm around her so she could settle in more comfortably against him. "I'm cold," she hinted.

"How in the hell are ya cold? It's back up over eighty now."

Carol sighed. Apparently she couldn't flirt worth shit. "I want you to put your arm around me," she said bluntly, more out of irritation than anything else. Once it was out, it was too late to take it back, and she'd said it too forthrightly to play it off as a joke. So she tried to downplay it: "It would just be more comfortable. This bunk is kind of cramped."

"Uh…a'right." He put his arm awkwardly around her shoulders, like a thirteen-year-old boy on his first date at the movies. She cuddled up against him. He stared intensely at the screen, as if he was afraid that if he looked at her she might ask for something else. Daryl's arm was so stiff around her, that eventually she just slid away from him and leaned back against the wall again. His arm dropped to the bed between them.

"That ain't what ya wanted?" he asked, sounding shy and uncertain, and it suddenly occurred to her that maybe he wasn't so rigid because he hadn't _wanted_ to touch her. Maybe he simply had no idea _how_ to touch her.

She looked at him sitting there, his muscles tense and self-protective but his eyes worried and eager to please. She thought about how he'd said he'd run away from home repeatedly and spent weeks alone in the woods, how he'd dropped out of high school at fifteen, how he'd drifted from town to town with Merle. She thought about how much time he'd spent alone or with no one other than his brother, and about how often he flinched when _anyone_ touched him. She thought, too, of how hastily he'd answered her truth or dare question about when he had lost his virginity, and of how it had seemed like he was lying.

Carol didn't mean to say it out loud, but somehow the words just slipped out of her mouth: "You're a virgin, aren't you?"


	14. It's Not Shameful

Beth crept into Carol's cell, her blue eye's round and wide as a startled doe's, her mouth partly agape. "Are you all right?" she asked. "I heard a crash or something." She looked at the DVD player on the ground. The screen was half snapped off and dangled by a wire thread.

"I'm fine," Carol insisted. "I got up to get something, and I just...silly me...I stumbled against the table the DVD player was on and knocked it over. It must have been cheaply made, it broke so easily." She smiled. "But I'm just fine. Thanks for checking up on me."

Beth looked from the DVD player to Carol and back to the DVD player. "Well, I'm sorry it broke."

"My fault for being so clumsy," Carol said and kept smiling until Beth had disappeared.

Her fake smile faded into a grimace, and she was suddenly disgusted with herself. How easily and completely she had slipped back into the abused wife routine, lying to cover up what had really happened. When she'd suggested Daryl was a virgin, he'd growled, low and angry, "Yer nosy as hell, ya know that?" Then he'd stood straight up and violently swept his arm against the portable DVD player, so that it went soaring across the cell, where it smashed into the bars, slammed on the ground, and fell apart. Then he'd simply walked out.

 _How dare he._

How dare he smash her player in anger, and leave her trembling in this cell. How dare he put her back in that tense place she'd escaped when she'd escaped Ed's unpredictable rages.

 _And how dare she._

How dare she act like nothing had happened. How dare she lie to cover for him. She wasn't that woman anymore. She wasn't weak. She would _never_ be weak again.

Carol stormed toward Daryl's cell. He wasn't there, but Hershel, who had been reading a medical book in his open cell, said, "If you're looking for Daryl, I saw him head toward the mess hall."

[*]

Daryl paced the length of the mess hall, trying to gain control of himself. There were lots of windows in this room, even if covered on the outside by bars, so enough moonlight and starlight filtered in to light his way as his bare feet padded against the cool cement floor. He'd left his boots on Carol's floor. And his gun and knife and flashlight. And her shattered DVD player.

 _Fuck._ Why had he done that? What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn't a man. He was a tantrum-throwing child. He wasn't a man at all...and now she knew.

He swiveled when he reached the end of the mess hall and began pacing back, which was when he saw Carol. She was coming at him full speed, more livid than he'd ever seen her. Hands open and palms flat, she shoved him hard against his brick of a chest. Shocked, he stumbled backwards three steps and rammed his upper leg against a table.

"You don't get to treat me like that!" Her voice cracked, breaking in an instant from anger to sorrow. "No one gets to treat me like that anymore! No one!" And now she was sobbing, in a way he hadn't seen her sob since Sophia lurched out of that barn.

The same surprising instinct overtook him that had overtaken him back then. He put his arms around her. This time, he didn't need to hold her back. He held her in.

Carol bent her head against his chest and wept into his shirt. Daryl held her until she'd stopped crying, and then he reached into his back pocket to offer her his red bandanna.

"Sorry I shoved you," she said as she dabbed her eyes.

"'S a'right. I deserve it."

"Don't say that." She handed him back his bandanna, which he returned to his pocket. "That's what I used to tell myself. _No one_ deserves it."

"Didn't hurt none," he insisted, even though hitting the table had hurt.

"I shouldn't have done it. I lost control. I..." Carol sighed shakily. She put a hand on the table to steady herself, and then she turned and sat on it. He sat down beside her, careful not to touch her. Carol told him about how she had lied to Beth, about how she had despised herself for slipping back into the habit of covering up for Ed's rages.

"I ain't Ed," he whispered, terrified that she might think of him as no different than that piece of shit. "I'd never hurt ya, Carol. Never."

"Well, you _did_ hurt me. Not physically, but you _scared_ me. And you broke my DVD player. I'll never be able to finish that movie now."

"Get ya another one," he said softly. When she didn't reply, he said, "I'm sorry."

"That's what Ed always said, every time."

"I ain't Ed!"

"No, you're not Ed," she agreed. "But I'm not Carol _Peletier_ anymore either. You _can't_ treat me like that, Daryl. You can't just smash my things because I ask you a question you don't like. Even if it was a rude and thoughtless question."

She hadn't reacted like this when he'd thrown that saddle in Hershel's barn, or when he'd gotten up right in her face by his tent and said those nasty things to her. She'd been so...calm. So forgiving. But she expected more of him now. He didn't have infinite chances with her.

"I..." He was going to say he hadn't meant to do it, but Ed had probably said that to her a thousand times. He put a hand down on either side of himself and gripped the wood of the table tightly. Maybe his only chance with her was honesty. "I think I did that 'cause I's embarrassed. I didn't want ya to know. I didn't want ya to guess. Please don't tell no one."

"Of course not."

"Promise."

"Daryl, why would I tell anyone that? Why - "

" _Promise._ "

"I promise." She put her hand on top of his and said, "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

He slid his hand out from underneath hers. "Like hell it ain't. I'm a grown man." He shook his head. "Merle used to ride me so damn hard 'bout it - ya gotta bust that cherry, Daryl, yer a goddamn embarrassment to the Dixon name, what the hell are ya waitin' for? When I's nineteen, he finally just took me to a whorehouse." _Shit._ Why had he told her that? "Didn't go through with it!"

"Why not?" she asked.

"It just felt...weird. They lined 'em all up, like they was horses at auction or somethin', and I was supposed to look 'em over and...it didn't feel right. So I just picked one, quick as I could. And she took me back to some room. Room smelled strange. Kind of made my stomach churn. I just stood there...didn't know where I's s'posed to start. So I told her she didn't have to do nothin', and I'd pay her extra, on top of whatever Merle was payin' her, if she told him I's the best damn ride of her life."

Carol smiled faintly. "Did Merle believe it?"

"Think so, 'cause after that, he mostly left me alone 'bout it. When we was roamin', if he picked up a woman at a bar and went home with her, next mornin'...I'd make up some story, tell him I'd done the same thing, even though I'd just camped out somewhere alone." Daryl couldn't believe he'd told her all this. "I ain't gay or nothin', if that's what ya think."

"I've never thought that."

"I just...I never knew what to do. Merle always seemed to know."

"Merle was in juvenile detention," Carol told him, "and in the military. As feral as he was...he moved in social groups more than you ever did. Your mother didn't die until he was a teenager, but you were just a boy. You were practically alone, especially with all that time you spent hiding out in the woods from your father. You aren't used to a loving touch. You had to raise yourself, and you never stayed in one place for long. You just never had the chance to - "

"- Don't make excuses for me."

"Daryl, it's not shameful."

He looked down at the mess hall floor. Carol slid off the table and turned to face him. She took a step closer, so that she was standing between his legs, her body flush against the edge of the table he was sitting on. She bent her neck and pressed her forehead to his. It was an unexpected relief to have her so physically close after exposing himself like that, as if she were a cover to his nakedness.

"I'm sorry we fought," she said softly.

"Me too," he whispered, and put a hand on each of her hips, because it seemed to make sense, somehow, to do that.

They remained together for a long time in that position, Daryl sitting on the table, her standing between his legs, hands on each other's hips, foreheads pressed together, lips inches apart. In the silence of the mess hall, Daryl could hear her breathing. He could almost hear his own heart beating. He shifted his head just a little and kissed her. It was so natural…so seamless…the way his lips fell on hers. She closed her eyes. The kiss that began on her lips trailed to her cheek, her nose, her forehead, and back to her lips. She opened her mouth against his. He accepted the invitation and slipped his tongue hesitantly inside, but she responded, and he wasn't hesitant for long.

When Carol finally pulled away, they were both breathing heavily. She held onto the sides of his shirt, the fabric now balled in each of her fists.

He'd been afraid of losing her friendship when she barged in screaming at him, but he was even more afraid of losing it now. If they kept going down this road, he was sure he would disappoint her. "Don't want to ruin it," he said. "Yer the best damn friend I ever had in my life. No one ever gave a shit 'bout me the way ya do."

Carol moved back one step, though she didn't let go of the shirt at his waist. She studied his eyes, her bottom lip sucked in, her own eyes lit by a bitter-sweet smile. "I know," she whispered. "I understand." She unclenched her fists. The fabric of his shirt slipped from her fingers.

She let him go.

Stepped away.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, and left him there, sitting alone in the moonlight.

[*]

Daryl walked under the shaded tarp of the canteen the next morning, sayin', "What's up Dr. S?" There was a chorus of greetings. He still hadn't gotten used to this – to people greeting him like he was just an established part of their world, and not one they feared or disliked.

Carol was cooking something up for brunch. "Smells good," he told her, trying to appear as though he wasn't thinking about that kiss they'd shared last night.

"Just so you know," she said, "I liked you first."

He didn't know how to respond to that, so he just said his expected line: "Stop." He glanced at her, eyes flitting up and down, realizing that even though she was joking, she wasn't _only_ joking – she was telling him she sincerely did think highly of him. The thought flattered and embarrassed him. "You know, Rick brought in a lot of them, too."

"Not recently. Give the strangers sanctuary, keeping people fed…you're going to have to learn to live with the love."

"Right." He had to look away.

His eyes were drawn back when she said, "I need you to see something."

He took a final sample taste of the food she was preparing, but before they could get away, Patrick thanked him for the deer he'd brought back yesterday. The kid said he was honored to shake Daryl's hand. _Honored_. Daryl pretended not to be surprised, licked his fingers clean, and shook the boy's hand. He strode casually away with Carol, feeling like he belonged here in this camp, like he was somebody special, maybe even someone who might dare to kiss Carol again one day. Not today. But _one_ day.

Carol showed him the walkers pressing against the fence and told him they couldn't spare many people for the supply run. He was disappointed she wouldn't be joining him, but also a bit relieved, given that her presence would distract him with foreign feelings.

"Sorry, Pookie," she said, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

He chuckled and bumped her affectionately with his elbow, and she smiled. Only after he'd done it did he realize he'd been the one to touch her first.

As Daryl was packing up for the run later, he saw Zach trying to needle an affectionate goodbye out of Beth. "It's like a dang romance novel," he muttered, but secretly he smiled.

And the day just kept getting better. As he was leaving, Daryl saw Michonne had returned. He sputtered his motorcycle to a stop to tell her he was glad to see her back in one piece. Soon enough, he was headed off, the caravan of supply runners behind him.

As he roared down the road, he felt more content and more alive than he'd felt since…he couldn't remember when. This morning, he'd seen Beth turn over her little workplace sign to thirty days. _Thirty days_ in a row they'd made it, without so much as a finger lost. Michonne was alive and well and - at least for now - back where she belonged. He'd kissed Carol last night, and it hadn't made things weird between them. They were still friends - maybe even better friends than they'd been before. Patrick was _honored_ to shake his hand. He and the other supply runners were about to score some serious shit at the big place.

Life was good.

The future was bright.


	15. 15

**A/N:** _Think of the end of the last chapter as the end of Part I of this story, because now I'm starting Part II. I'm going to rapidly fast forward, and the story is going to take a different trajectory. I promise, it will make its way back to more Caryl, but the road there might be a bit angsty...hope you stick with me for the journey. Comments welcome!_

[*]

Carol never forgot the taste of Daryl's kiss, but things changed that day Zach was killed and Beth turned her workplace sign back to zero. That thick, black 0 was a stark reminder that they didn't live in a world where levity had a a realistic place. They didn't have time for games and movies and slow kisses in the mess hall.

Patrick died and turned. Soon enough, disease was spreading like wildfire through the prison. Carol, terrified of losing her family, did what she thought she had to do to save them from destruction, and Rick banished her for the choice.

She spent long, lonely nights just surviving. Surviving and thinking about what she'd done, wondering if Daryl missed her, if he longed for her like she longed for him. Then one day she stumbled on Tyreese, Judith, Lizzie, and Mika. She learned the fate of her people, and realized her attempt to save them was for nothing. She'd played God, but she hadn't had God's omniscience. She'd killed two people for nothing, because half had died in the end anyway, and the rest had been scattered.

She vowed never to play God again, but a few days later, she had to. "Look at the flowers, Lizzie," she told the girl as the gun trembled in her hand and she fought to stop the tears from falling. "Look at the flowers."

She wanted to stop. She wanted to stop playing God, but at Terminus, she played God again, because God didn't seem interested in playing God, or, if He was, Carol didn't much care for the rules He was playing by.

When she was reunited with her people, Daryl ran to her and embraced her - with gratitude and without embarrassment - in front of everyone - weeping into her neck. She knew then that he had not been lost to her, but she also knew he'd had his own painful journey.

Beth had taught Daryl something about himself. He seemed more of a man to her than he had before, but she felt like less of a woman. She'd fallen out of touch with her nurturing, feminine side. She'd become some calloused, half-dead thing. She was afraid to feel.

Daryl told her they could start over. "We ain't ashes," he'd said, and she wanted to start over. So very badly.

She tried, in Alexandria. She tried to start over with people who didn't know about all of the blood on her hands. But she couldn't start over even there. You couldn't be a lamb in a world of wolves. Feeling like the blood still stained her hands, she ran...She ran and ran...but she couldn't outrun the fallen world. That world was all around her, caving in on her, crushing her...

Carol's soul cried out for help, and help came. Riding on a magnificent horse, help came.

And Carol gained entry into the Kingdom.

[*]

Daryl never stopped desiring Carol, but things changed that day he had to tell Beth that Zach was killed, and that sweet, young girl said to him, "I don't cry anymore, Daryl." It was like watching innocence die right before his eyes. For the first time in his life, he had begun to _feel_ \- to experience emotions other than anger - but not even Beth cried anymore.

To make matters worse, they lost Patrick, the boy who had been _honored_ to shake his hand, and then Ryan, and Karen, and David...

Daryl lost Carol, too, when he learned that Rick had banished her. And then he lost the prison. He lost the closest thing to a home he'd ever known. The only place he'd ever felt respected. The only place he'd ever believed that his existence made a real difference to anyone. His home was overrun and his family scattered.

In response to losing everything, Daryl shut down. He stopped feeling anything at all, except hunger and heat and exhaustion, until Beth at last made him feel anger, and his anger turned to grief, and his grief turned to hope. But then he lost Beth, too.

He lost Beth and found Carol. And that day he heard Carol's footsteps and whirled to see her standing there, and ran to her, the joy and relief clawing at his chest like it was going to rip itself through, he _knew_ that he loved her.

Carol told him he _had_ to feel. So he let himself. He felt the grief of Beth's loss, and he felt the beauty of Carol's presence. But for some reason he didn't quite understand, Carol couldn't seem to let herself love him. There was a strange new distance between them. He'd found her, but he'd also lost her, and nowhere was that more clear than in Alexandria. Early one morning, he spied her walking out of Tobin's house. Daryl felt angrier than a rat in a coffee can, but he never said a word to her about it. He just ducked in the alleyway between houses before she could see him seeing her.

Anger once again became his most familiar companion, and he channeled it all at the Saviors who had killed Denise. He ceased to think, and his thirst for revenge brought him to his knees before a barbwire-wrapped baseball bat. He swayed as the bat pointed from friend to friend, wanting to rise and fight, but feeling weaker and weaker as the blood drained from his wound. About the time Negan raised his bat to strike, Daryl faded to unconsciousness.

He awoke feeling like ten pounds of shit in a five pound sack. Blurred colors and shapes floated before his eyes. He blinked the scene into focus and saw that he was lying on a bare twin mattress nestled in a metal frame. When he turned his head, iron bars loomed before him. For a brief, hopeful moment, he thought it had all been a dream, and he was back in the prison. The Governor had never destroyed his first home. Hershel was alive. Zach was alive. Beth was alive. And he'd just kissed Carol yesterday.

But then he felt the weight on his wrists, looked down, and saw the chains. Beneath the dull silver of his shackles shone the bright orange cloth of a prison jumpsuit.

"Good morning, sunshine!"

Daryl turned his head again to see Negan standing on the other side of the bars. Growling, Daryl swiveled his legs off the bed and tried to stand and charge, only to fall back on his ass.

"Easy does it now!" Negan said cheerfully. "You haven't eaten any real food in five days." _Five days?_ "You slipped into a bit of a coma. My doctor just took out your IV an hour ago."

"What've ya done with the others?"

Negan smiled. "Well, my lovely Lucille chose your Asian friend, but then that red-headed giant felt the inexplicable need to intervene. Can you believe that?" He shook his head and laughed. "And then that fiery Latina tried to defend _him_ , and well...What can I say? Sometimes you have to play a tripleheader."

 _Glenn, Abraham, Rosita - all three dead?_

"It was a real shit storm, I must say," Negan continued. "Not at all how I planned for things to go. While my men and I were preoccupied with killing those three, the rest of your friends managed to escape. They took off in one of my campers. Not very sportsman like of them. I'm sorry to tell you, but they happily left you for dead."

If Negan thought Daryl would feel betrayed, he was sadly mistaken. Daryl would have been angry if they had risked themselves trying to save him. Maggie, at least, had gotten out alive, and, with her, the unborn baby. Even Carol would appreciate their priorities.

Of course, he and Carol weren't as close as they used to be. She'd found a new friend in Alexandria. The thought made him angrier than he already was. "Why in the hell didn't ya just kill me, too?"

"Because you, my poor white trash friend, are, believe it or not, extremely valuable collateral. I feel confident King Ezekiel will trade you for my brother."

"Who the fuck is King Ezekiel?"

Negan let out a low, amused chuckle that sent anger flaming to the tip of Daryl's brain. "Oh, you have to meet him. Quite the character."

"Why would he trade for _me_?"

"Two of your people have taken refuge in the Kingdom. I think they'll persuade him to make the trade. And when they do, that's when the fourth of July starts." He made a whistling sound followed by a boom and opened his hand. "Once we have my brother safely outside the gates, we get to use our new rocket launchers on the Kingdom."

Daryl tried to stand up, but again he fell back. Negan squished his face up against the bars, so that his nose poked through. It reminded Daryl of that scene from _The Shining_ , when Jack Nicholson is peeking through the axe-shattered door. "Oh do be reasonable," Negan said. "At least wait until you've had your super."


	16. 16

_**A/N**_ : _Insomnia means you get an early update today...This is another fast-paced chapter, but then things will begin to slow down again. I just wanted to get somewhat beyond the angst and death and all that before I attempt to repair the gulf that seemed to have grown between these two characters in later seasons. The story will be Daryl-focused for awhile, but it will return to Caryl eventually, I promise. Thanks for the encouraging reviews, and I appreciate all types of feedback._

[*]

Daryl had spent his youth and most of his twenties and thirties staying out of prison. It was a small point of pride with him that he'd never had to wear an orange jumpsuit, which was why it had pissed him off so much when Beth said, "I never went to prison."

He'd seen Merle go off to juvie twice. His pa had been in for six months after his third DUI. His Uncle Clyde did ten years for that chop shop he operated, and his cousin Boyd served some time for stealing copper wire. But Daryl had never so much as spent a night in the drunk tank. Part of it was that he usually kept his nose clean, as best he could in the world he inhabited, but part of it was that he wasn't such a dumb ass as to get caught when he _did_ break the law.

So this orange jumpsuit the Saviors kept leading him around in really made his ass itch - both literally and figuratively. He was hotter than a four-peckered billy goat in this thing, but it was the shame more than the material that burned him up. He was finally a prisoner, because he'd finally been enough of a dumb ass. Dumb ass enough to go chasing revenge, not caring who might come looking for him, not caring where it might all end.

He ate what they fed him. His hunger was stronger than his will to die, but not his hunger for the hard tack they shoved beneath his iron cage. His hunger to see Carol again, to know that she was safe and alive.

[*]

Three days later, Daryl was driven to the Kingdom. He had the strength to fight now, but not the freedom. His wrists and ankles ached from the tight cuffs that shackled him, and he breathed heavily through his nose, because Negan had shoved a cloth gag in his mouth and covered that with layers of gray duct tape. Through the window of the Savior's van, he saw three lines of yellow school buses surrounding a barbed-wire fence like a metal shield. The van lurched to a stop. A few of the school buses moved, and then a gate swung open in the fence, and the van drove through.

When Daryl was dragged out of the van, he saw an enormous high school. Lights were on inside the building, and a fountain bubbled at the far end of the courtyard that stretched before it. Somehow, these people still had power and running water. Eight armed men and women stood guard in a line on either side of the front doors of the school. They held semi-automatic rifles and wore flak vests with armored plates inside. Some of the vests were camouflage, some were solid black, and one said POLICE while another read F.B.I.

There was a click as the front doors of the school swung open. A man emerged and blew a trumpet. The trumpeter stepped aside and another figure strode forth, a wild-haired black man. But that's not what Daryl saw first. He saw the tiger and stumbled backward in surprise. Negan chuckled, while one of his henchmen held Daryl still.

And then Daryl saw _her._ Carol. She was standing to the right of the tiger, and the breath from its sudden and powerful roar ruffled the hem of her long, floral dress. She didn't even flinch.

From the doorway, Morgan emerged leading a shackled prisoner: Negan's brother, Daryl assumed. Morgan walked the man down the steps that led from the front door of the school.

"King Ezekiel," Negan called across the distance between them, "pleasant as always to see you."

The so-called King leveled his fierce, dark eyes at Negan. "The last time we met was not at all pleasant," he said. "You beat one of my subjects to death."

"Well, that's what happens when you stop paying your tithes," Negan told him. "And to be fair, you weren't very friendly the last time we met either. Your men took off in the middle of that beating with my brother."

"It is not _I_ who does not wish to live at peace with you." King Ezekiel sounded like he could crush a man with just his voice.

Negan rolled his eyes with the grand drama of a teenage girl. "Let's get on with this."

Negan's henchman walked Daryl forward as Morgan did the same with the other prisoner. When the prisoners were within three feet of each other, they were shoved forward abruptly. Morgan caught Daryl's arm to steady him as the Saviors broke into a run, hastening their man into the van. Daryl tried to warn Morgan of the rocket launchers through his gag, but nothing but a muffled cry emerged, and the Savior's van was already driving off through the open gates.

Carol descended the stairs and ran to him, her sandal-clad feet falling gracefully on the courtyard, her dress fluttering lightly around her ankles as if she'd just run off a movie screen. She began peeling off the layer after layer of duct tape that covered his gag. When she yanked the cloth from his mouth, he shouted, "They got rocket launchers! They's waitin' outside the gates to attack ya!"

"We know," said King Ezekiel as he closed the space between them, leaving his tiger perched in a sitting position before the school doors. "We have prepared."

Gunfire erupted from beyond the the gates.

"It is time," King Ezekiel announced in a booming voice, "to break the back of the oppressor."

The men and women who had been guarding the school marched forward. Morgan used some kind of pick to free Daryl from his shackles. Another armor-plated man thundered through the courtyard on horseback, came to a stop near Daryl, leaned down, and extended him an AR-10. Awed by the strange sight of the horse, Daryl instinctively took the gun.

King Ezekiel now leveled his wild gaze at Daryl. "Will you join my men in the battle to end all battles?"

Daryl looked at Carol in wide-eyed confusion.

"These are good people," she said. "They can be trusted."

"The Kingdom has been planning this ambush for days," Morgan explained. "They've been preparing for war much longer than that. The gunfire you heard was the Kingdom's knights seizing the rocket launchers. But they'll have let Negan and a few of his men escape so that they can pursue them, discover their bases, and invade them."

"Ya stayin' here?" Daryl asked Carol. She certainly wasn't dressed for battle. She was wearing a dress for Christsake. She looked...well, she looked beautiful, to tell the truth. She looked like a woman a man would fight to come home to.

"I beat my sword into a plowshare," Carol said. "I don't fight anymore. And you don't have to either. Here, you have a choice. Some are called to battle, and some are called to the hearth."

"The Kingdom is large enough for all," Morgan said. "It has its defenders and its nurturers both."

"But you have to follow your own calling," Carol told him.

Daryl's mind reeled in the wake of the strangeness of it all.

The mounted man steadied his horse. "We know the Saviors have at least two bases," he told Daryl. "The battle may rage for days or weeks. We will not return to the Kingdom until the oppressor is destroyed. Are you with us?"

Daryl had no idea what was going on in this peculiar world, but he felt responsible for the death of his friends. If the Saviors' reign of terror was about to end, he wanted to be a part of ending it. He nodded.

The man on horseback raised his arm straight in the air and flashed a light, like a signal. The roar of a motorcycle grew closer. It was racing toward them from the far end of the courtyard and came to a stop in front of Daryl. The rider, a young lady, maybe eighteen or nineteen, dismounted. She had short, cropped, solid black hair which made a very strange contrast with her blue-gray eyes. She swept her hand over the motorcycle, and said, "Daryl Dixon, your steed awaits you."

[*]

Common enemies make strange bedfellows. Daryl had read that somewhere. But _strange_ did not even begin to describe these Kingdom freaks. He didn't have time to think about that, though. The war went out from the Kingdom, spanned from Alexandria to the Hilltop Colony, and raged for almost three weeks.

The Saviors turned out to be a much more numerous gang than any of them had imagined, with four separate camps. Each time they thought they'd cut off the head, a new one grew. Eventually, however, with the help of information from two deserters, the Saviors were crushed. But in the course of the war, Alexandria was burned to the ground. The Hilltop had also been touched by fire, but not so much that it couldn't rebuild. The Kingdom alone remained entirely unscathed, and King Ezekiel issued a proclamation welcoming all refugees from Alexandria.

As the moon emerged from beneath a dark cloud, Daryl straddled his borrowed and now war-battered motorcycle, looked back at the small, tired, and tattered group of survivors, and began to follow King Ezekiel's knights to the Kingdom...and to Carol.


	17. 17

Fireflies flashed and floated lightly in the air as the refugees entered the gates of the Kingdom late that night. They were greeted by an elderly woman in a royal blue dress, who introduced herself as "Margaret, your court tour guide."

Two men began to tend to their vehicles, and Daryl watched one take hold of the motorcycle he'd been lent for the war. The man made no comment on its battered frame and simply rolled it through the courtyard. Daryl had damaged it fairly badly in his reckless pursuit of one of the Saviors - he'd seen the man wearing _his_ leather vest and riding _his_ motorcyle. Daryl hadn't recovered his old motorcycle - it had been destroyed beyond repair in the accident that followed the chase - but he had gotten his wings back in the end. Unfortunately, the jacket now had a bullet hole in it, and the inside was a bit blackish brown from blood stains, but it still fit him like a glove.

Margaret asked each of their names, wrote them in flowery script on name tag stickers, and peeled them off and handed them to the refugees one by one. Daryl held his sticker on one finger and looked at it dubiously.

"Just play along for now," Michonne whispered to him as she smoothed her sticker over her breast. He continued to stare at the sticker, so she took it off his finger and slapped it on his chest. It almost didn't stick because his shirt was so dirty.

Margaret led them through the courtyard, which was a long stretch of open space in front of the school littered by picnic benches, a gazebo, grass, dirt paths, and a fountain. They entered the school through the cafeteria doors.

Carl let his squirming baby sister down from his arms, and Little Ass Kicker toddled one step before turning, lunging, and grabbing onto Daryl's leg for support. Sucking on her pacifier, she stared with wide eyes as the tour guide spoke. Margaret called the cafeteria "the royal banquet hall" and said, "banquets are held daily at six-thirty in the evening. Dress is business casual."

Eugene asked, "Could you offer us a succinct definition of your concept of business casual attire?"

"No shorts, no flip flops, and no jeans." She looked Daryl up and down. "No torn pants or sleeveless shirts either."

Sasha chuckled.

"You're on your own for breakfast and lunch," the tour guide continued. "Your weekly rations may be picked up from the royal pantry on Sunday mornings."

Rick leaned over to Daryl and whispered, "These people are insane."

Michonne cast Rick a wary glance that seem to say - _Be quiet. Make nice. This is all we've got._ Rick fell silent.

"Where are Carol and Morgan?" Tobin asked.

Daryl avoided looking at him when he spoke. To his credit, Tobin had taken up arms to defend Alexandria when the Saviors were at its gates, and he had saved Little Ass Kicker when Carl was overrun and fighting his way out, but Daryl just couldn't understand what Carol had seen in him. He wondered if she still saw it, if she and Tobin would be a couple here in the Kingdom.

"We didn't send for them because you entered the gates after curfew," the tour guide replied.

"Curfew?" Maggie asked. "We have a bed time?" During most of the war, she'd remained under the care of the Hilltop Colony's doctor, and the Hilltop had offered to let her stay on permanently. She'd chosen her first family instead.

"Quiet hours, if you will," the tour guide said. "They range from 11 PM to 7 AM. Certain parts of the Kingdom are off limits during that time. Your friends may be sleeping already, and we didn't wish to disturb them. I'm sure they will seek you out tomorrow."

They were led to the locker rooms next, or "the court showers" as their tour guide called them. They exited the boys' locker room through the "royal gym," where "the Knights of the Kingdom train in swordsmanship and strength exercises from eight to noon daily. Any of you is welcome to use the weight room or the royal gym during non-training hours. We have a firearms target range on the old baseball field that's available for open practice during the posted hours."

Margaret led them out of the gym and past the "royal garden," which was a large greenhouse and, beyond it, four garden plots. "This high school served as a vocational career center," she told them, "in addition to offering a standard academic track. The gardens were part of the agricultural program. I'll show you the wood shop next, where the court carpenters work."

After the wood shop, she showed them the mechanic's shop, where a smattering of vehicles had been left in various stages of repair, among them the motorcycle Daryl had been lent for the battle. He hoped they fixed the body up nicely for the girl who had let him borrow it.

Next, Margaret took them to the "royal concert hall and theater," where, she said, "You can enjoy entertainment every Saturday night at 8 PM."

 _"_ You actually put on plays?" Carl asked. "In the middle of a...plays?"

"The mind requires stimulation and the spirit requires inspiration," the tour guide said. "More so now, perhaps, than at any time in history. And the tournaments are held in the football stadium on Sunday afternoons, from three to five."

"Could you elaborate on the nature of these tournaments?" Eugene asked.

"You can watch the knights compete in a variety of feats of skill on the football field," Margaret explained. "The stadium is where we train and house the horses as well."

Sasha shook her head. "This place is huge. My high school only had about 500 people."

"Well, this one had close to 3,000 students, between the vocational and academic programs." The tour guide continued to speak as she led them back inside the main school building. "The Kingdom currently houses 219 people, not including your group. Fifty of the King's subjects are knights, but everyone has an equally important role to play." She suddenly stopped walking. "Forty-four knights, I mean. We lost six in the war, sadly."

Daryl suppressed a growl. Alexandria had lost more than twice that many people, among them Tara, Aaron, Spencer, Enid, and Father Gabriel - not to mention Glen, Abraham, and Rosita, who had been killed before the war. He supposed he couldn't blame King Ezekiel for being clever and well fortified and keeping the battle off his own doorstep, but he thought Alexandria had paid a much greater price for the victory.

"You'll each be assigned a calling by the end of the week at the latest."

"A calling?" Maggie asked.

"A court position."

"Like a job?" Carl asked.

The tour guide nodded. "Tonight, you'll be assigned an apartment." She looked from Michonne to Rick to Carl and then down at Judith who was now back in Carl's arms. "Will all four of you be housing together?"

Michonne glanced at Rick, but it was Carl who answered, "Yes. All in one apartment."

"Then I'll make sure you get one of the larger classrooms. Sasha and Maggie, may I room you together?"

The women looked at one another and nodded. "Sure," Maggie answered.

"I would prefer to room with the object of my affection if I may," Eugene said, draping his arm around Juanita, a fifty-year-old woman from Alexandria who had apparently become his 'girlfriend' at some point. Daryl didn't even remember ever meeting her in Alexandria.

"We can arrange that," the tour guide said. "Tobin and Daryl, can I room you two to - "

"- No," Daryl interrupted emphatically.

"We'll figure out something else, then," she said pleasantly, though she gave Daryl a wary look. As they walked on, Daryl wished he hadn't been so quick to refuse Tobin as a roommate. What if what they "figured out" was to room Tobin with Carol?

[*]

Daryl was given one of the outdoor portable classrooms as his apartment. The desks had all been shoved against the far wall, and there was a freshly made-up mattress lying on the middle of the floor, with one pillow. "There's no power to these portables," Margaret him, "but Carol says you're the one most accustomed to roughing it."

"Be fine," he told her.

"We've left you an oil lamp and a lantern flashlight. You can see the court carpenters about building you a bed frame tomorrow. That cabinet there is pre-stocked with a few dry and canned foods for breakfast and lunch."

It was midnight when Daryl, feeling like a stranger in a strange land, closed the door to his new "apartment." Exhausted, he threw himself down on the mattress and fell asleep, still in his boots.

[*]

Light from the rising sun filtered through the windows, painting Daryl's white sheets with lines of gold and orange. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He needed to find Carol, but first he needed to take care of this pressure on his bladder. He slammed open the door of the portable, clomped across the wooden deck, and took a piss through the rails into the gravel below. He was shaking it off when he heard a voice say, "You know, you could use the loo inside the school."

Daryl zipped up quickly and turned. Standing on the ground to his right was a man dressed in hunting camouflage, with a .22 rifle slung over his shoulder and a knife and boomerang wedged in his belt. He looked to be in his early fifties, well tanned, with thick, graying blonde hair. "Good morning, mate," he said. "I'm Henry Wordsworth, Lord of the Hunt."

Daryl took a step closer to the rail and looked down on him. "Like the poet?'

"That would be Henry _Wadsworth_. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. I'm _Wordsworth,_ who was also a poet, but not a Henry."

"Mhm."

"You've been assigned to serve the Kingdom as a huntsman."

"A what?" Daryl asked.

"Carol assured King Ezekiel that you're a brilliant hunter."

"I can hunt."

"Good. Grab your things. We leave now."

"Haven't even eaten breakfast."

Henry reached into his pocket, pulled out a protein bar, and tossed it over the rail. Daryl caught it. Daryl had lost his crossbow a while back, and that knight had taken back the AR-10 he'd loaned him for the war. "Ain't got nothin' but a handgun and a knife."

"We have everything you'll need. Come on now! Get a wriggle on!"

[*]

Daryl piled into the backseat of the pick-up truck next to a short but burly man with tight, curly black hair who had been introduced to him by Henry as "Jakob with a k." When Jakob spoke, his vowels were very pronounced, and he said his _th_ as _z_. Henry took the wheel, and next to him was a lean black man who was so tall that his head almost touched the ceiling. He spoke with an African accent of some kind, and his name was Alemnesh. "But you can call me Al."

What was this? Daryl wondered. The fucking United Nations? "Y'all ain't from 'round here, are ya?"

"You're the one who's not from around here," Henry replied.

As Henry began driving, Jakob leaned forward between the front seats. "Need to zink of expanding the royal forest. Em, Rock Creek Park isn't big enough. No deer in days."

"The last time we ventured out of our territory," Henry told him, "we ran into the Saviors. If we'd remained within our own borders, John would still be alive. So would a lot of other people."

"Al?" Jakob asked.

"Let us see how we do with the new man first. Carol says he is a superb hunter."

"Ya know Carol?" Daryl asked.

"Everyone knows Carol," Henry replied. "And everyone likes her."

 _I liked her first_ , Daryl thought.

"Do you happen to know if she has a gentleman friend?" Al asked. "One who survived the fall of Alexandria?"

"Why ya want to know?" Daryl asked gruffly.

Al smiled at him in the rear view mirror.

"Tobin," Daryl answered, just to shut down that smile, but the name left a bitter taste in his mouth. Maybe Tobin had ended up in Carol's room. Maybe they were in bed together this very minute, just now stirring awake.

The idea sickened him.


	18. 18

Henry slipped a camo safari hat on his head and then handed Daryl a crossbow and a quiver from the bed of the pick-up. Surprised, Daryl looked the bow over.

"Carol said you're a crossbow man," Henry explained. "This one used to belong to my son John."

"Thank ya." It felt good to have a bow in his hands again.

They split into pairs and tracked in different directions. Al and Jakob headed east. Daryl followed Henry westward through the forest, double checking the sign to make sure the man was heading the right way, but Henry seemed to be a competent tracker. Normally, Daryl would have appreciated the silence as they hiked into the woods, but he felt like he was drifting on the surface of a community he didn't understand, so he made a stab at conversation: "Where ya from originally? Ya got a strange accent."

" _I've_ got a strange accent?" Henry asked with a laugh. "You sound like Foghorn Leghorn."

"Do not! Nothin' like!"

"I like to think my accent and speech patterns are fairly American by now," Henry told him. "I was born in South Africa, to British parents, but we moved to Canada when I was thirteen. I went to Australia for university, worked there for a few years, and then I immigrated to the U.S. I've lived here for nearly twenty years now."

Now that the ice breaker was over with, Daryl cut to the chase: "The tiger. What's with that?"

"King Ezekiel used to work for the National Zoo as a trainer." Henry squatted to examine the earth. "He and eleven other employees were there after hours when the epidemic started spreading. The undead pressed against the front and back gates, and they didn't dare venture out." He stood and walked on. "So they lived off some of the animals and the food in the snack shops for four months. They continued to care for the big animals, just enough to keep them alive. Alive but hungry. When the undead finally broke down the gates and streamed in, they unleashed the big cats and bears on them, stampeded the elephants, and made their retreat. Ezekiel kept hold of Shiva, though. He's trained her well. She's at once a weapon and a pet. They found the school, cleared it, secured it, and began building the Kingdom. King Ezekiel's been taking in refugees ever since."

"How long ya been here?"

"Ten months. When it all started, we hid out in our hunting cabin in West Virginia. My wife got sick, so my son John left to search for antibiotics, and he ran into a Knight of the Kingdom."

"When the Kingdom stopped payin'," Daryl speculated, "yer son was beat to death by Negan?" He looked down at John's crossbow in his hands.

Henry nodded and his jaw clenched. "Tomorrow would have been his twenty-first birthday."

"Then why weren't ya fightin' with the knights?" Daryl couldn't imagine not wanting to avenge a son. Even his own pa would have done as much, for pride if for nothing else.

"Someone had to feed the people while the knights were at war. King Ezekiel says we all have different callings. We're like the parts of a body, each with its own function. You can't have a body that's all hand, or all eye, or all mouth."

"King Ezekiel ain't said that," Daryl replied. "The Bible said that."

"Are you a religious man?"

"No."

"King Ezekiel didn't want to risk losing any of his hunters," Henry told him.

The leaves crunched lightly beneath Daryl's feet. "King Ezekiel's the sole authority here?"

"He has a Privy Council."

"A what now?" Daryl asked.

"A group of advisors."

"They elected?"

"He appoints them."

Daryl's eyes swept the trail. "Hmmm."

"This is not a world conducive to democracy. People want a dictator. They need one. And they're lucky if he's benign."

Maybe that was true. What had Daryl been, really, but Rick's advisor? Carol had once called Daryl Rick's henchman. There was a time in the beginning when Rick wasn't even taking advice. But the Kingdom was more settled than any place he'd yet seen. Though it had been at war, the majority of its people were untouched by the battles that raged outside the gates. "What happens when someone else wants to be king?"

Henry glanced at him warily. "Any coup would be quickly put down by the palace guards, I can assure you."

"I ain't plannin' no coup. Just wonderin' why everyone goes along with all this...play actin'. Royal this and royal that."

"You've seen the Kingdom," Henry told him. "Why wouldn't they? It's better than anything this world has to offer."

They tracked in silence for awhile, until Daryl asked, "What's with the boomerang?"

Henry drew it from his belt. "Allow me to demonstrate." He then threw it at a dove that was flying overhead. The dove merely flew higher, and the boomerang tilted back slightly toward them before landing with a dull thud on the leaf-strewn ground.

"Impressive," Daryl said dryly.

"Well, it usually works. My wrist's been a bit wonky lately."

"Mhmhm."

Henry reclaimed his boomerang, and they walked on, opting for total silence as the tracks grew fresher. They must have hiked a mile and a half into the forest. Henry spied the deer first and leveled his rifle, but the bullet struck its hind, which just sent the deer running quickly through the woods. It was Daryl who brought it down with two arrows from his new bow.

[*]

When they returned to the Kingdom around one in the afternoon, Daryl went to the boys' locker room to scrub the blood from his hands. Henry had "let" him field dress the deer.

He came out with every intention of searching for Carol, but he was distracted by the sound of a trumpet, which he followed to the courtyard. Half the Kingdom seemed to be milling there now, though he didn't see Carol anywhere. He _did_ see Henry, and he walked over to him and asked, "What's goin' on?"

"A royal announcement."

The trumpeter scaled the steps of the gazebo in the center of the courtyard, leaped up onto the railing, held onto a supporting post, and began speaking loudly. "Today, our huntsmen have brought us a deer, two rabbits, and two doves!"

Murmurs ran through the crowd, and Henry grinned as a few men clapped him on the back. A buxom, red-headed woman on the other side of the courtyard smiled and waved her fingers at him. Henry winked back at her.

"As usual, King Ezekiel welcomes all to the royal banquet at 6:30 p.m. tonight," the speaker announced. "Our Palace Chef will have a grand feast prepared for all of the King's loyal subjects." He then leaped down from the gazebo, and the crowd began to disburse.

"Palace Chef, huh," Daryl said with a scoffing huff. These phrases were so ridiculous. "Must be damn good to get a title like that."

"She's a brilliant cook," Henry said. "But I suppose you know that. Carol's been in your camp since the Turn, hasn't she?"

"Carol?" Daryl asked.

"She got promoted to the position after her first week and a half here. The timing of her arrival was perfect. The old Chef was starting to have tremors in his hands."

"What happened to him?" Daryl asked.

"They fed him to the tiger."

Daryl blinked.

Henry laughed. "The old chef assists Carol now, as best he can in his condition." Henry smiled across the courtyard as the woman he had winked at approached them, swaying her shapely hips in mock seduction. From a distance, she had looked to be in her thirties, but as she neared, Daryl saw that she was probably in her mid to late forties.

When she was standing before them, Henry said, "A kiss, love, for the huntsman who brings you fresh venison?"

"If you insist," she said, and kissed Daryl on his cheek.

It was so unexpected that Daryl didn't even flinch or jerk away. He touched his cheek in quiet surprise.

Henry glowered, and the woman laughed at his peeved expression. "What?" she asked. "Jakob said the new huntsman fired the killing shots."

"Yes, but _I_ spied the deer first!"

"One for you, too, then." She kissed Henry leisurely on the lips.

"Daryl," Henry said when she had pulled away. "My wife, Gloria."

Daryl, still flushing from the unexpected kiss, nodded to her. "Nice to meet ya, ma'am."

[*]

Daryl looked for Carol in the kitchen, but found only the "royal butcher" there, hacking away at the deer. "Carol will probably be here in an hour. You might find her in her room."

"Where's that?"

"Don't know."

Daryl exited through the cafeteria, where two women were setting the tables. They eyed him curiously. In the main hallway of the school, he ran into Tobin and asked him if he had seen Carol.

Tobin shook his head. "Haven't run into her yet."

"Figured she'd of come right to ya."

"Why?" Tobin asked.

"Because...uh...y'all..."

"She left me," Tobin said. "Before Negan even took you. When she left Alexandria, she left me. Left a note behind, said she was leaving for good and not to come looking for her. I don't think she's interested in me anymore, if she ever really was."

"Oh." Relief seeped through Daryl's body and unwound muscles he hadn't even realized were tense.

"They give you a job?" Tobin asked.

"Huntsman."

Tobin chuckled. "These names. I'm supposed to be Lord of the Build, apparently."

"The build?"

"Construction. It's odd here, but the people seem nice. It's well fortified and defended. I think we have a chance here."

"Maybe."

"Well, you take care," Tobin told him, and walked on. Daryl was puzzled that he didn't seem more upset by the thought of Carol being lost to him.

Next, Daryl started asking random people in the hallways where Carol's apartment was. They all seemed to know her, but they weren't sure where she roomed. The most detailed answer he could get was "third floor, west wing."

He made his way there and began peeking into windows to see if he could find her. When he saw a young lady pulling her shirt on over her bra, he jumped back immediately and walked on. Daryl quickened his pace when he heard the door open and slam back against the inner wall of the classroom. "Hey, you, perv! Stop right there! Come back here so I can pull your eyes out with a tuning fork!"

Holding his hands up apologetically, he turned around.

"Oh," she said. "It's you."

Now that he saw the young lady's short, black hair and blue-gray eyes, he realized it was the girl who had loaned him the motorcycle. "I's only lookin' for Carol," he insisted. "Don't know what room she's in. Just knew she's on this floor. I wasn't peepin', I swear. Just tryin' to find her."

"Well, I'll buy your story, because Carol said such nice things about you." She had a southern accent when she spoke. It wasn't nearly as thick as his accent, but it was thicker than Carol's. "Where's my bike?"

"It's in the shop."

"Why is it in the the _shop_?"

"I's sorry 'bout yer bike. It kind of...kind of got beat up."

" _Got_ beat up?" she asked. When her eyebrow shot up, he noticed it was blonde, not black.

"Ended up havin' to jump off it while I's chasin' a Savior. Bike smashed 'gainst a wall."

"You get the Savior?"

Daryl nodded.

"Well, I don't mind sacrificing my bike for that."

Daryl nodded, turned, and started to walk away.

"Rude!" she called after him.

He turned back.

"You can't just turn around and walk away from someone when they're talking to you! Were you raised in a barn?"

"Sorry," he said. "Thought you was done talkin'."

"I haven't even _begun_ talking. I've been wanting to talk to you ever since Carol told me about the famous Daryl Dixon. But there wasn't much time to chat with you when you were heading off to war."

Daryl took a hesitant step toward her. "Talk to me? Why?" Carol sure had been telling a lot of people about him.

"Because I haven't seen you since I was eight, _Uncle Daryl._ "


	19. 19

_**A/N:**_ _I know people are anxious for Carol and Daryl to meet up again, and I promise it's coming in the next chapter, but I wanted to lay some groundwork in the Kingdom from Daryl's point of view first._

[*]

"Savannah?" Daryl asked. He closed the distance between them, leaving only two feet of space. He looked her over. Her eyes were the color in the photo, but that hair was completely different. She was wearing dark red lipstick, so dark it was almost black, and she had on men's cargo pants and a solid black t-shirt - hardly the girly get-up she'd been wearing in the photo. "Ya don't look _nothin'_ like yer picture."

"Yeah, well, I'm not that girl anymore. I'm nineteen now."

"Ya ain't got long blonde hair neither."

"I started dying my hair black a couple of months ago when I found a bunch of kits on a supply run, but I cut it real short right after the Turn. Long hair gets in the way when you're trying to survive. You could use a trim yourself. How do you even see through those bangs, Shaggy?"

"I see just fine!"

"Makes a hell of lot more sense to have a cut like Merle had." Daryl noticed she didn't call Merle her pa. "Carol said he's dead."

"Yeah," Daryl said hoarsely. His throat felt dry.

"Said he went out righteously, fighting your enemies."

Carol had said that? She'd despised Merle. Maybe she'd said it to comfort Savannah. "Yeah. He did."

"Well, at least he did something for someone once in his life," she said, "because he sure as hell didn't do shit for me."

"Hey, he didn't even _know_ 'bout ya 'till ya was eight. And he saw ya as often as yer mama let him."

"That's bullshit. Is that what he told you? He saw me when it was convenient for him. And it wasn't exactly like I had a way to get in touch with him if I wanted him to come to my dance recitals. Not that I _had_ dance recitals. Mama didn't exactly have the money for lessons. Or much else, considering Merle wasn't giving her shit."

"Merle sent her six hundred a month. She's s'posed to be usin' that money on ya."

"Well she didn't tell me that, but that doesn't go very far."

Shit, Daryl could live on six hundred a month _easy_. There were months he'd lived on less. Granted, he'd spent a lot of nights sleeping in the woods or at one of Merle's friend's cabins or trailers, and he hadn't exactly paid taxes or owned more than could fit in his top box or pack. "Listen, Merle cared 'bout ya. He was lookin' for ya after the Turn. We went back to y'all's trailer park, but it was cleared out. Figured ya'd have run for Atlanta, so we checked all the camps in between."

"I didn't go anywhere near Atlanta. Headed east through Augusta, then made my way to D.C. Figured if there was a safe haven anywhere, it'd be here. Guess I was right."

Daryl hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. "Ya go it alone?" He couldn't imagine a teenage girl surviving that long on her own.

"Started out with family. My mama didn't even make it out of Macon. Lost my half brother in Augusta and both of my cousins in South Carolina. I joined up with a camp for a couple months. Decent people, but we were raided. The men were shot, the women taken - but I got out. Had my bike, you know? When I made it to D.C. I saw the lights of the Kingdom. I thought it was a government safe zone, and I just went right up to it. They took me in. That was nine months ago."

"When ya start ridin' bikes? Merle teach you?" Daryl asked.

"What, the three times a year he visited me?" Savannah scoffed.

"Just...Merle was into bikes. Thought maybe..."

"I guess you could say he introduced me. And he did give me that bike for my sweet sixteen."

These past three weeks at war, Daryl had been riding a motorcycle picked out by his dead brother, and he hadn't even known it. He felt a sudden pang.

Savannah jerked her head back toward her room. "Want to come in for a beer?"

"Ya got _beer_?"

She led him into her "apartment." It was about half the size of the other classrooms he'd passed, but about the same size as his portable. "I got Special Ed," she said, "because I didn't want to room with anyone."

The room was clear of students' desks, but it had a twin size bed in a frame, a large metal storage cabinet, a mini fridge, the teacher's desk, and three, blue stackable chairs. She pulled two of the chairs off the stack and said, "Have a seat."

She opened the mini fridge and grabbed two cans. "Sorry, but all I've got is Butt Wipe." She handed him a Budweiser, and he cracked it open with a hiss as he sat down. She sat in the chair next to his and opened her can. "I'm supposed to deliver everything I get on the supply runs to the _royal pantry_ , but sometimes I hide a little for myself."

Daryl took a sip of the beer. He noticed how sarcastically she'd said royal pantry, so he admitted to her, "This place sort of gives me the creeps."

"You get used to it. You learn to play along." She tossed back her head and took a long guzzle.

"What happens if ya don't play along?"

Savannah lowered her beer. "People frown at you. Sometimes you can get a rebuke."

"A rebuke?"

"It's like a demerit in school. Get too many, and, theoretically, they can expel you. But no one's ever actually been banished. People always fall in line."

"What's with all the royal bullshit?"

"I don't know. It's how they were talking when I got here. It's not a bad place, really. It's like all those kids in my high school who used to LARP."

"Used to what?"

"The role playing geeks. Except...a lot of these guys are actually really good-looking."

Daryl had no idea what she was talking about. "Where's the electricity and water here come from?"

"I don't know, some plant and some aqueduct. You'll have to ask the _royal engineers._ It's their job to venture out and maintain those things. Keep them from getting overrun and gnawed on by lurchers."

Daryl didn't really care to investigate the details. He could live without power and water, if they ever lost it. They hadn't even _had_ running water in the old cabin his ma burned down, and they'd used an outhouse.

"How old's that one-eyed kid?" Savannah asked.

"Carl? I don't know. Fifteen I think. Maybe."

"Mhm," she said. "That's way too young for me. Though he does have nice eyes. Well, _one_ nice eye."

"Ya lookin' for a boyfriend?"

"Well, the last one I had got beat to death by Negan."

"John Wordsworth?" he asked.

She winced, nodded, and guzzled the rest of her beer. She crushed the can and threw it across the room. It rimmed the metal trash can and slid to the bottom with a light clang. "For months I lived here, and not a _single_ person died. But it had to be him." She shook her head. "I wanted to go to war you know." Her voice cracked a little, but she steadied it. "Avenge him. But King Ezekiel said I was too young, too inexperienced, I hadn't been training with the knights. That's asinine if you ask me. I survived on my own for months. I've been on supply runs. I can fight. But they're all about _callings here_. Now that you're a hunter, you're always going to be a hunter."

Daryl didn't mind being a hunter. It was in his blood. But if war ever came again, he wasn't going to stand idly by. "Cain't nobody tell me I cain't fight."

"Well, you can apply to change your calling, to be a knight, but that doesn't mean your request will be granted. Although yours might be. They wanted you to fight in the first place, after all. Some people do have dual-callings. Not many, but some."

"Apply? I ain't gonna _apply_ for nothin'. Do whatever the hell I want when I want."

"You can't live like that here," she told him. "Not if you want to stay." She nodded to the beer. "You gonna drink all that?"

He took another sip and then handed her the can. He'd never been much of a beer man anyway. Whiskey was more to his liking, but he'd never been an alcoholic like his pa, or an addict like Merle. It was rare he even got drunk. Daryl didn't like having his inhibitions lowered. He'd been drunk only twice since the Turn, once at the CDC, and once with Beth. "What do ya mean, I cain't?"

"There are rules and roles and order, and that keeps people alive. Think of all the people you lost in the war, and think of how few we've lost."

"Y'all have traded yer freedom for security." Daryl told her.

"What good is your freedom when you're dead?" Savannah asked. "You do what you have to do to survive. I've been here nine months, and only one civilian has died. Just John. We lost six knights in the war. That's it. Over two hundred people, and we've lost seven in nine months. Can you say that for any place you've lived since the Turn?"

"Nah, I cain't."

"Aren't you tired of losing people?"

Daryl wished he hadn't handed back that beer. He wanted it now. "Yeah," he said softly. "I am."

"I take it you were in charge in your old camp."

"Nah. We had a Council."

"But you were in it."

"Yeah," he said.

"Well, now you're going to have to get used to someone else being in power."

Daryl wondered what Carol thought of all this, if she was just playing along, or if she'd bought into it all. "Ya know what room Carol's in?"

Savannah put her beer can between her knees. "Are you two..." She made a circle with the thumb and forefinger of one hand, and then crudely drove the middle finger of her other hand in and out of the circle.

Daryl flushed. "Just need to talk to her."

"She's in 306."

Daryl stood, thanked her for the beer, and hurried to find Carol.


	20. 20

Daryl knocked on 306, but, getting no answer, he headed back to the kitchen to see if Carol was there yet. A palace guard blocked his way, saying, "Banquet preparations have begun. Royal kitchen servants only." Daryl thought of just driving past him, but then decided it might not be wise to make waves just yet. So he returned to his own "apartment" and threw himself on his mattress. With his hands behind his head, Daryl stared at the world maps that lined the walls of the classroom, images of countries that no longer existed, and felt strangely alone.

There was a knock on the door. He rolled off the mattress on his hands and feet, did a push up, and then stood. He looked through the slender vertical window to see Carol. Hastily, he opened the door.

She smiled. "It's good to see you alive. I hear you got us the deer. I'm about to go season and prepare it."

Daryl stepped back as she walked in. He wanted to hug her. It had been three weeks since he'd seen her, far longer since he'd touched her. But he didn't know if she would want that.

"King Ezekiel is very pleased," Carol told him. "I bet you'll be the new Lord of the Hunt by month's end."

"Lucky me," he said dryly.

"Daryl, I know this is all so strange to you...but I've been here the entire time you were captive, and while you were at war. I promise you - it's a place of goodness."

"A place of _goodness_?" If Daryl spat the words, it was because he worried she'd become so much a part of the Kingdom that she wasn't a part of him anymore. "Ya sound as crunchy as half the people here."

"The Kingdom has given me a chance to find peace. I've _needed_ peace. The things I've done..." She shook her head. "I had a hard time forgiving myself for them."

"Yeah? What 'bout the things _I_ done? Ya despise me for them?"

"Of course not. You're both a hunter and a warrior, and Ezekiel says the Kingdom will always need warriors. But me…it's time for me to play a different role. Ezekiel says a person must be at peace with his or her own conscience, that - "

"- Ezekiel says," Daryl muttered. In a mocking, squeaky high pitch, he repeated, "Ezekiel says. Ezekiel says. Ezekiel - "

"- Stop it!"

He glowered at her. "Ya ain't sensin' anythin' just a little bit cultish 'bout this place?"

"Yes, Daryl, I _have_ sensed that!" Now she sounded more like the Carol he knew. "But I've _also_ experienced real healing here. I've got a safe place to stay where I can be of service to people without having to kill anyone. I'm not walking around wearing rose-colored glasses, but I'm also not about to throw the baby out with the bathwater."

He nodded, relieved to know she hadn't entirely surrendered her skepticism. "A'right. I can respect that."

"Are you staying?" She sounded like the answer actually mattered to her.

"Where the hell else would I go? Yer here. Michonne's here. Rick. Carl. Little Ass Kicker." He winced because he couldn't say a lot of other names. He _was_ tired of losing people. Maybe here, with the Saviors destroyed, he wouldn't have to keep losing them. Except...the one person he cared most about losing, he feared he'd already lost. "Can I ask ya somethin'?"

"Anything."

"Why Tobin?" Daryl didn't want to mention it. The sense of betrayal weighed too heavily on his heart. And mentioning it made it more real. But he wasn't sure how they were supposed to go on with that shadow hanging over them. He wasn't even sure they _were_ supposed to go on, that there was any _we_ left _to_ go on, but he'd never know if he didn't ask.

"Because he didn't know who I used to be," she told him.

"Unlike me?"

"No one knows me better than you. I couldn't get away from myself without getting away from you."

"Then what're ya doin' in my room?"

"I don't want to run from myself anymore," she said. "I've learned to forgive myself. You were right. We're not ashes. We can start again. A hundred times, if we need to. We can always start again."

He shook his head. "How..." It was choking him, the anger and the hurt and the feeling of betrayal. "How could ya throw yerself at Tobin like that, but all the time..." He couldn't finish. He couldn't say what he was thinking. _Why not me?_

"Daryl, that night in the prison mess hall…." That night they'd kissed, before Zach died, before the sickness swept the prison, before Carol's banishment, before the prison's destruction, before Terminus, before Alexandria, before Negan, before wave upon wave upon wave… " _You_ said you didn't want to risk ruining our friendship. I understood that, because I didn't want to risk ruining it either."

"Yeah, well you fuckin' Tobin kind of risked ruinin' it."

"I didn't _fuck_ him."

"Nah? What? Ya _made love_?" He wanted to kick one of the school chairs, hard, until it flew against all the desks that were lined up along the wall, but he'd shown his anger that way once, in the prison, and Carol hadn't precisely approved. So he just stood there instead.

"We didn't have sex," she said calmly.

"No? Ya stayed at his house. Saw ya comin' out of it one mornin'."

"There was some physical interaction between us, yes, and I slept there, but we _never_ had sex." She let out a shaky sigh and hugged herself. She was wearing a pretty pink blouse and a black skirt. That's how she dressed these days, he guessed – for peace and not for war. _Palace Chef._ He wondered if she had a royal apron and royal cap.

Daryl paced to the front of the room and leaned back against the teacher's desk. "What are we doin' here, Carol?'

He was trying to ask what he meant to her now, but she took his question more literally. "I like it here," she said. "We have a chance to build a future here."

" _You_ do."

"You're needed, too."

A puff of air huffed through his nostrils. "Think I was once. I ain't anymore."

"Daryl, you're the best hunter the Kingdom has."

He looked down at the fraying carpet below. "Wasn't talkin' 'bout bein' needed by the Kingdom."

Carol walked up to him where he leaned against the desk. He was startled when she rested a hand on his hip. "I missed you," she said, "when you were being held captive, and when you were gone away to war. Hell, Daryl, I missed you when we were both in Alexandria. I _still_ miss you."

Daryl swallowed. He chewed on his thumb nail. "I miss ya, too," he muttered.

"Let's be friends again. Can we?"

He looked shyly into her eyes and then away. "A'right."

She stepped back and looked around the room. "This is the worst bachelor's pad I've ever seen."

He dropped his hand and smiled faintly.

"My classroom is set up very nicely," she said. "It's like a real apartment. But it's too big for me. It's strange being alone there. I could use a roommate."

"Ya mean me?"

She nodded. "I don't want to ask someone I don't know well."

"How ya think Tobin's gonna feel 'bout that?"

"Tobin doesn't have any say in that. I don't belong to him."

"Ya gonna start seein' him again, though?" Tobin had said she'd left him, but he wanted to hear it straight from the horse's mouth.

She shook her head. "I was pretending to be someone I'm not. That wasn't fair to him. And there are several single women here in their forties. He's a nice man. He'll find someone quickly. Someone who's not pretending. If I'm going to share my apartment with someone, I want it to be someone I never _have_ to pretend with. You can read me quicker than anyone. I _can't_ pretend with you."

"So yer not pretendin' now? Here, in this...Kingdom?"

"Does it seem like I am to you?"

"No," he admitted. "But ya...ya seem different."

"I'm not the same as I was when you last saw me, but I'm not pretending either. I _like_ it here. I will always do what I have to in order to defend the people I love, if it ever comes to that, but I like that I can be free of that burden here. I like that there are warriors and poets and servants and hunters and builders and every type of calling in the Kingdom. Because that killer I was...that killer wasn't really me. I want to be _strong_ , but the Kingdom's shown me that there's more than one way to be strong."

"Ya sure are popular here."

She smiled. "The way to a people's heart is through their stomachs. But as much as I like it here, it does feel odd being in that huge apartment, all alone, after all we've gone through. It gives me the heebie jeebies, honestly. So what do you say?" That teasing smile he knew all too well - and had missed all too much - broke out across her face. "Be my roomie?"


	21. 21

**A/N:** _Thank you for all of the reviews! It is very encouraging to receive them and to know what readers think of various parts of the story._

[*]

Daryl didn't want to admit how much he didn't want to be alone. He'd spent more than half his life alone, but ever since the prison…things had been different. He didn't feel right when there was too much space between him and Carol. "I could move in with ya," he said casually. "I mean, if'n ya need the company. I don't mind."

"Good. I'll send over some royal servants to help you with your stuff." She stepped forward and kissed him quickly on the cheek. When she pulled back, she sounded confused and maybe even a little worried. "You've got lipstick on that cheek."

He considered being vague, seeing if he could make her jealous, but that wasn't exactly his style. "Gloria Wordsworth kissed me for bringin' back the deer."

Carol chuckled. "Did she do it in front of Henry?"

"Mhm."

"That poor man. She gives him the worst time."

"When'd their son get killed?" Daryl was trying to piece together the timeline of the Kingdom. He knew the knights had been preparing for war with the Saviors ever since that beating.

"Three months ago. But John wasn't Gloria's son. Henry's wife died of illness before he and John made it to the Kingdom."

"Oh."

"Henry met Gloria here."

"And married her that quick?"

"It's a lonely world." Carol met his eyes when she said that, and he felt like she wanted him to say something, but he didn't know what, so he just said, "Mhmm" and watched her leave the classroom trailer.

[*]

Daryl followed the royal servants, who were bearing his mattress. He lingered outside the door of 306 until they were gone, and then he crept inside and looked around. The first thing he saw was a living room area. A throw rug lay under a coffee table in front of a love seat. Beyond the living room, under the windows, four student desks had been pushed together to make a two-person breakfast table, which was covered with a white tablecloth. Fresh flowers sat in a vase on the center, and the nearby windows were curtained. A metal storage cabinet served as the pantry. Daryl explored it, and, hearing his stomach growl, snagged a piece of beef jerky.

He chewed hungrily on the jerky as he walked beyond the living room to where a billowing, red curtain hung. He parted it and walked through. On the left was Carol's bedroom area. She had a queen-sized bed with a hand-carved frame, a tall filing cabinet as a dresser, and a short one as a nightstand. A series of end to end bookcases - which opened like a library into her bedroom - formed a partial divider. He walked along the edge of the curtain and past the bookcases to explore the next "room."

There, Carol had shoved all the classroom stuff she wasn't using, including the teacher's desk. His mattress lay on the tile floor in the bit of clear space that remained. He supposed this was going to be his bedroom now. He dropped his backpack on the desk and headed back out to the hallway, where he ran into Henry.

"They have you on this floor?" Henry asked. "I'm on it too, but in the east wing. I just came up from the showers though." His graying blonde hair was tousled and wet.

"Yeah...uh...roomin' with Carol."

"Are you indeed?" Henry smiled. "I thought you told Al she was with some chap named Tobin?"

"Yeah, well, she was. But now she ain't."

"Now she's with you?"

"We's just...roomin'."

"Hmmm." He looked Daryl up and down. "That's not going to pass muster."

"We been friends a long time," Daryl insisted. "We's just roomin'." He didn't want Carol to think he was spreading rumors about them doing things they weren't doing.

"No, I meant your clothes. I'll lend you something for the banquet."

[*]

Daryl killed time before the banquet by exploring the Kingdom. He found Michonne in the gym with Morgan, who was showing her how to use a staff. She paused in her form, handed Morgan the staff, and walked over to Daryl on the sidelines. "What do you think of this place?" she asked.

"It's weird."

"That's an understatement. But, uh..." She glanced behind herself to make sure Morgan was preoccupied, "Mr. Miyagi over there seems pretty sold on it."

"Carol too."

"They give you a _calling_ yet?" Michonne asked.

"Mhmhm. Already went huntin' this mornin'. Got us a deer."

"They say they want me to start training with the knights tomorrow. It seems pretty rigorous. Swords, horses, and guns - forty hours a week."

"Ya gonna do it?"

Michonne shrugged. "What else do I have to do?"

Daryl peered into the weight room next. Sasha was there, angrily pumping iron, as though she was throwing all of her rage over Abraham's death into that barbell. She was on what must have been the last rep of her set, and she was really struggling to push that thing back up. He hastened in and helped her, sliding the barbell into the slots. Irritated, Sasha sat up and swung her legs off the bench. "Could have done it myself," she insisted.

"Get someone to spot ya next time."

"Who? Everyone's busy."

Daryl couldn't remember the last time he'd lifted weights. Six years ago, maybe, when they were crashing at one of Merle's friend's houses four a couple of months, and there was a set in the garage. "Think I'll usually be back from huntin' by one. I can lift with ya. Spot ya."

"You seen Carol yet?" she asked.

He nodded. "She's the Palace Chef. Cookin' for the banquet right now. What they got ya doin'? Ya know yet?"

"Palace guard. Night shift. Lucky me. Guess what they made Eugene?"

"Master of Longwinded Phrases?" Daryl ventured.

Sasha laughed. "Armorer. He's going to be making and reloading ammunition in the workshop I think. Maybe a little gunsmithing."

"Sounds 'bout right."

Sasha headed for the showers while Daryl headed out to explore the target range, where he found Rick. When Rick told him he'd been made "Master of the Range," Daryl snorted.

"Firearms instructor and range safety officer, basically," Rick explained. "But there's no one here right now, so I was doing a little shooting of my own." He nodded to his target, which had a neat group of holes near the bull's eye. "They've made Carl Keeper of the Children. He's not thrilled about it."

"What's that?"

Rick holstered his gun and began to pack up his gear "Basically, he's working in the nursery and preschool, from 8 to 2. At least he can keep an eye on Judith that way." He swung his bag on his shoulder, switched the sign hanging from a post near the ranged to _Closed_ and said to Daryl, "I'm about to check out the arena. You want to come with me?"

"Ya mean the football stadium?" Daryl asked.

Rick chuckled and shook his head. "I'm slipping into it already."

They found a boy - maybe eleven or twelve-years-old - mucking out the stalls at the edge of the stadium.

"What's your name?" Rick asked him.

"Joey," he answered. "I'm the Keeper of the Stalls."

"Ya shovel shit, kid," Daryl said. He was getting tired of these fancy titles.

"King Ezekiel says every calling is equally important, that we're like parts of a - "

"- Yeah, I heard this speech already," Daryl interrupted. "Ya like shovelin' shit?"

"Someone has to do it," the boy replied, "or the horses would get sick and die. Without the horses, we'd be using up too much gas, and then - "

"- I get it," Daryl said. "Ain't no shame in honest work. I used to shovel shit when I's younger." He'd been 17 at the time and living with Merle, but Merle had run out of money. So Daryl would wait with the other day laborers outside of the 7-11 in the early hours of the morning, hoping to be picked up and crowded into the back of some ranch hand's pick-up and driven off to work for eight to ten hours straight. It wasn't enough money, though. They lost the trailer and had to drift on, because, Merle said, no way in hell he was shoveling shit himself. He knew a guy who had a great job lined up for them in Fayetteville. Merle always knew a guy. And there was always a great job. Until there wasn't. "How many horses y'all got?"

"Eight. And two dairy cows. They graze on the football field. It's not astroturf. It's the real stuff."

"You like it here?" Rick asked him. "In the Kingdom?"

"Yes, sir," he said, "much better than where I used to live. It was just me and my mom before, in the basement of the Lincoln Memorial." He glanced at his watch. "I have to go get showered for the banquet." He leaned his shovel against the stall and took off.

A horse snorted. Daryl nodded to it. "What do _ya_ think of this place?" he asked it, and it whinnied. Daryl turned to Rick. "He thinks it's weird too."

"But he's staying," Rick told him. "He thinks it's better than being walker bait. How about you?"

"For now," Daryl agreed. "But I'm sleepin' with one eye open."

Rick clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You and me both, brother. But at least they didn't ask us to surrender our weapons here." They'd been asked to do that too many times, by friends and foes alike - on Hershel's farm, at Terminus, and in Alexandria. "I'm kind of surprised about that. What's it mean, that they aren't the least bit afraid we might rebel?"

"Means we wouldn't win if we did," Daryl told him.

[*]

Daryl sat at a banquet table with his people, as far from Tobin as he possibly could, next to Sasha, and with an empty chair between himself and some stranger from the Kingdom. When he was asked if the seat was taken, he said yes. He figured Carol would sit there whenever she got out of the kitchen.

A servant put a plate in front of him, and he immediately picked up his fork to eat, but Morgan told him to wait. Feeling out of place, he lay the fork down and turned his eyes in the direction everyone was looking.

The king's royal page mounted the cafeteria stage and blew his trumpet. King Ezekiel entered stage left and strolled regally to a large armchair center stage, the tiger by his side. He turned to face the tables, intoned a grace, and then sat down. The tiger followed suit, squatting on its haunches facing the diners. Daryl looked at his food, but no one was yet picking up their forks.

A kitchen servant set a student desk in front of Ezekiel, and another laid a plate of food on it. The King fed a piece of venison to the tiger, which licked it out of his hand. When Ezekiel picked up his own fork, so did everyone else, and conversation erupted around the cafeteria as silverware clanked against plates.

"That man sure is full of himself," Sasha said. "Though he might be good-looking if he weren't so crazy."

"The cat freaks me out." Michonne glanced over her shoulder at the tiger.

"Gonna bite his hand off one of these days," Daryl agreed. "Don't care how damn well he's trained it. Beasts ain't pets."

"Turn over your glass if you want wine," Morgan told them.

Michonne's hand shot out and she quickly turned over her glass. "They have enough for everyone?"

"Four ounces per banquet," Morgan told her. "The Royal Vintner maintains a wine cellar. The supply runners bring back what they can, and he also makes some of his own from the fruit in the Royal Garden. Plum wine, mostly."

"Damn this is good," Rick said, cutting another bite of his venison. "Better than anything Carol cooked for us before."

"Well, they have a lot more spices here," Morgan told him.

Daryl shoveled his food hungrily into his mouth, but not without occasionally stopping to look around for Carol. It wasn't until the servants were clearing the plates that she finally ventured out of the kitchen. Daryl watched her exchange greetings and hugs with each and every one of the refugees. At least the hug Tobin gave her seemed stiff and formal, and she returned it with no more than a friendly pat on Tobin's back, but Daryl didn't like that she was hugging the man at all. When she reached Daryl, he was too irritated to stand. She trailed a hand over his shoulders and sat down in the empty chair next to him.

"Where'd you get the shirt?" she asked him.

Daryl felt uncomfortable in the long-sleeve, button-down, green and blue plaid shirt. Henry had long arms, so the sleeves were rolled up at the wrists, and it was tight across his broad shoulders. The pants actually fit him fairly well, however, because they'd been loose on Henry, though Daryl had needed to roll up the cuffs. "Henry Wordsworth."

"Like the poet?" Michonne asked.

"Mmm," Daryl murmured.

"At least you're out of that orange jumpsuit," Carol said with a smile.

"Don't you get to eat?" Rick gestured to the empty space at the table in front of Carol.

"I ate in the kitchen. But they'll be bringing out coffee and desert soon."

"We get dessert?" Carl asked excitedly.

"I baked cookies this morning."

Judith, who was sitting on Rick's lap, spluttered, "Cook-cook."

Carol looked at her in amazement. "When did she start talking?"

"That was her first word ever," Carl said, and then clapped her little hands together, crying, "Yay, Judith!"

Rick smiled. "She must be a genius. Isn't that really young to be talking?"

"Of course she's a genius," Michonne teased as she put a hand at the back of Rick's neck. "She's yours."

Carol looked around at their faces. "Where is everyone else? Are they still working? Not that many people have to work during banquets."

"No one told you?" Maggie asked.

Carol looked across the table at her. "Glenn?"

Maggie shook her head, gritted her teeth, and blinked back tears.

"Abraham?" Carol asked.

Sasha swallowed. "Negan killed them both. Rosita, too."

"Enid's gone," Carl said bitterly.

"Tara," Eugene told her.

"Father Gabriel," Michonne added.

"Spencer," said Rick. "Everyone you don't see here...They're just gone."

Carol looked at Daryl. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Thought ya knew."

Carol put an elbow on the table and a hand over her eyes. Daryl wanted to comfort her, but he didn't know how. He'd sat by her in silence after she'd found Sophia turned, but he couldn't sit still beside her now. He hated being reminded of everything they'd lost. Daryl couldn't take it calmly this time, that long listing of the dead. And he couldn't show his pain here, in a room full of feasting, talking, laughing people.

Daryl's chair scraped back across the floor, its metal legs screeching on the faux marble tile like nails on a chalkboard. He left the banquet hall.


	22. 22

Carol swallowed her grief and pushed through the rest of the banquet. After overseeing the kitchen clean-up and beginning a few necessary preparations for the next evening, she returned to her apartment at 9 PM and almost tripped over Daryl's boots walking in. She lined them up against the wall before shutting the door.

Daryl's crossbow, quiver, handgun, and hunting knife were lying all over the breakfast table. The plaid shirt he'd been wearing at the banquet was draped over one of the chairs. He was sitting on the love seat in his borrowed pants and a white muscle t-shirt, his bare feet up on the coffee table, his head bent back. When she sat down beside him, he snorted awake, blinked and said, "Hey."

"Hey yourself," she said softly. She hadn't followed him when he left, because she knew him well enough to know he probably needed to be alone with his emotions, but she was worried. "You left the banquet early."

"Was weird. I mean, yer cookin' was great, but the rest was weird."

"You didn't stay for dessert. Or the jester."

He shrugged. "I ain't much for jugglin'."

"Well, he doesn't juggle. He tells jokes."

"I ain't much for jokes."

"I know." She nodded in the direction of what had once been her storage room. "I'm sorry it's such a mess in there. I'll have some royal servants haul out that junk tomorrow, make it into more of a bedroom for you. The court carpenters will make a frame for the mattress. Is there anything else special you want?"

"Nah."

"A desk, a wardrobe, a dresser, a nightstand? Whatever you want, I can figure something out."

"Just somethin' to put my shit in, I guess."

She smiled. "That way you won't have to leave it all over the breakfast table, right?'

"Sorry."

"You all right, Daryl?"

"Half the people I know just died. And now I got to be some crazy fucker's _subject_. No. I ain't a'right. Are _ya_?"

"I'm not okay with losing so many people," she told him, her voice cracking slightly, "but I'm trying..." She sighed. "I'm trying to start over. You said we get to, remember?"

He swung his legs off the coffee table, rested his elbows on his knees, and sat forward. "Yeah."

"And I know I didn't go through what you went through out there in the war. I didn't have to see it the way you did. I'm sorry you went through that."

"Well, it's over now," he said. "They's gone. Them Saviors. Every last one of 'em."

Carol looked down at her hands in her lap. "I also think...I'm just so selfishly happy you were one of the ones who lived."

Daryl's thumbnail went right in his mouth. It made her smile to see that familiar, nervous habit of his. She stood from the love seat. "I'm going to go take a shower and get ready for bed." In the doorway, she paused with one hand on the frame and looked back at him. "Want to join me?" She hadn't teased him like that in a long time, but she so badly wanted to recapture those lost days, when they were friends and she could rib him.

Carol was relieved to see Daryl do exactly what he had done back then. He bent his head, flitted his eyes shyly away from her, and said, "Stop."

[*]

What would she have done if he'd said yes?

Daryl picked up the boots Carol had lined against the wall, brought them into his room behind the red curtain, and set them on the desk. He brought all his other junk from the breakfast table in there too before throwing himself down on the mattress on his back.

He couldn't stop picturing Carol in that damn shower. Naked. Lathering soap slowly all over her dripping body. An unwanted erection strained uncomfortably against his pants.

"Goddamnit," he muttered. He unbuttoned his pants and was about to yank down his zipper when he thought of the possibility of Carol forgetting something, coming back, and walking in on him. He stood, slipped through the red curtain, and locked the classroom door.

[*]

The door was locked when Carol, wearing her comfy sweats and a t-shirt, her hair up in a towel, returned from her shower. She had to knock, loudly, several times, and it was awhile before a groggy-looking Daryl answered.

"Why'd you lock the door?" she asked as she came in.

"Didn't mean to," he muttered.

"Well don't do it again. I don't have a key. No one steals anything around here."

"A'right. Sorry."

She tossed her dirty clothes in the hamper in her bedroom, which she then put at the edge of the bookcase that separated their rooms. She came out from behind the curtain and said, "I put a hamper between our rooms. If you put your soiled clothes in there, I'll see they get washed."

He flushed suddenly, and she wasn't sure what she'd said to embarrass him.

"You look really tired," she told him, because he did.

"Think it's just catchin' up with me, the war. Didn't sleep much for three weeks."

"Well, you get some rest. I know Henry's coming for you at sunrise again. You need an alarm?"

"Usually wake up with the sun."

"Well, you don't have a window on that side, and you might want to eat breakfast before you leave. I'll get it for you."

She fetched her battery-powered alarm and handed it to him. He turned it in his hands and looked at it with confusion. "Just…never used one before," he said.

Carol set it for him and handed it back, pointing to a black button. "Just press that button when it goes off."

[*]

Daryl awoke before the alarm went off. Enough light had begun to seep through the cracks between the bookcases in Carol's room. Very carefully and quietly, so as not to wake her, he dressed and gathered his things. He crept cautiously to the breakfast nook and eased the metal pantry open ever so slowly, trying to prevent it from creaking.

He opened a can of mixed fruit on the table, but it sloshed, and the juice spilled out on her nice white tablecloth, staining it a yellow-orange. "Shit," he muttered. Daryl was looking for a cloth to blot it up with when the alarm clock started blaring.

"Shit!" He rushed back to his bedroom, flapping the curtains open, and slammed his fist down on the off button. The clock leaped from the desk and cluttered onto the floor. "Damnit!"

When he came out, Carol was standing on the other side of the curtain, rubbing her eyes. "Could you maybe be a little quieter in the morning? I don't have to get up until nine."

"Mhmhm. Sorry."

[*]

Henry was whistling the entire time he drove the pick-up.

"What are you so cheerful about?" Jakob asked.

"Had a good shag last night!" Henry boasted.

"That is not something to brag about when you are married," Al said. "It is no longer an accomplishment."

"Au contraire," Henry said. "It's _more_ of an accomplishment after you get married."

Jakob chuckled.

"Jakob knows," Henry said. "He has a wife. How about you Daryl?"

"What 'bout me?"

"Oh, silly question. Of course you don't have a wife. She probably wouldn't care for you living with Carol."

"You are living with Carol?" Al asked, eyeing him curiously in the rear view mirror.

"We's just...roomin'."

All three of the huntsmen laughed at once.

[*]

As they unloaded the pick-up, Al pulled out a long, thin spear. "What's that for?" Daryl asked.

"Frogs. You want to hunt with me today?"

"Nah, I'll stick with deer. Thanks."

"Em, zink I saw turkey tracks last time," Jakob said. He jerked his head to the south.

"Rock Creek Park never had wild turkeys," Henry told him.

"That was before," Jakob told him. "Zis is now."

Henry laughed. "Well, good luck to you. I think I'll track deer with Daryl."

"Of course you will," Al said. "It is an aphrodisiac for your wife, no?"

Henry smiled and hiked off. Daryl followed, but all he managed to catch this time was a rabbit and three squirrels.

Henry brought down a dove with his boomerang. "Told you it works."

"Don't know what Carol's gonna do with just this," Daryl muttered.

"Mixed meat stew. It's fantastic. You'll love it."

"Feedin' over 220 people with one rabbit, a dove, and three squirrels?"

"She pads it with beans and vegetables. And if Al had any luck, we'll have frog meat too. But Jakob's just wasting his time, looking for a turkey in these woods."

When they got back to the pick-up, Al had a cooler full of eight frogs, and Jakob was using a cell phone to take a photo of himself with the wild turkey he'd caught.

"I stand corrected," Henry said.

"What the hell's he doin' that for?" Daryl asked, nodding to Jakob as the click of the camera went off a third time.

"He likes to catalog his kills. He keeps a photo journal of sorts."

Daryl turned his eyes slowly to Henry and tried to read if he was joking. He didn't seem to be.

"We all have our little idiosyncrasies, don't we?" Henry headed for the driver's side door.

When Henry was driving, Jakob opened a cooler pack that rested on the seat between him and Daryl and passed out apples, trail mix, and Diet Cokes for lunch. Daryl hadn't realized how hungry he was until he started eating. He was tossing a handful of trail mix into his mouth when he noticed Jakob had leaned back against the door in order to turn and point his cell phone at him.

"Smile for ze camera," Jakob said.

Daryl glowered.

"Oh, come on mate," Henry said from the front seat. "Flash those pearly whites. We're all in the scrapbook. Don't want to leave you out."

The phone made a clicking sound, and then Jakob turned forward again. "I zink that is as close as he comes to smiling."

"You are fortunate then," Al said from the front seat. "I have read that women prefer solemn and surly looking men. I smile far too often. And so, alas, I have no luck with the ladies."

"That's not why you have no luck with the ladies," Henry told him, and Jakob laughed.

[*]

Daryl returned to room 306 when they got back. Carol wasn't there. His bedroom had been cleared out and organized. His mattress now rested in a simple, rustic wooden frame. There was a bookcase beside it, like a nightstand, with a desk lamp on top, and a footlocker at the end, before a tan-and-white throw rug. The bed had been neatly made-up, with the addition of a tan-and-white diamond-patterned quilt, and he had a second pillow now. He dropped his backpack on top of the bed. There was a hook on the wall that looked about perfect for hanging his crossbow. He mounted it there and went to the locker room to wash up from the hunt before meeting Sasha in the weight room.

Sasha had recently woken up, after manning the wall until 5 AM, but she was raring to go. Daryl spotted her and then did a few reps himself when she was done, though he'd never been much interested in unnatural exercise. He'd never needed to be, when he'd spent most of his working hours in manual labor and his free time hiking and hunting.

"Heard you're shacking up with Carol," Sasha said with a grin as she wiped down the bench with a towel.

"We's just roomin'," Daryl told her.

Sasha made a doubtful noise. She glanced at her watch. "Got to get going. King Ezekiel asked for a private audience with me."

Daryl frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Probably means he wants to add me to his harem."

Daryl was not amused.

"I'm kidding. He doesn't have a harem," Sasha said with a smile. "I don't even think he has a girlfriend. His royal messenger told me the king wants me to be the representative for the refugees - keep him informed of our adjustment process, our interests and concerns."

"Hmmm."

"It's not a bad thing, that one of us should get close to him, so we can better know what the hell we're dealing with here."

"Yeah," Daryl agreed.

Wondering what he should do with himself between now and the banquet, Daryl followed Sasha from the weight room and began his solitary walk through the Kingdom.


	23. 23

**A/N:** _Thank you for all the reviews! I know y'all are anxious for more Caryl, and I promise this story will have plenty, but Daryl is still getting acquainted with the Kingdom at the moment. I hope you enjoy these parts of the story too._

[*]

Hunting at sunrise made sense. The animals were most active in the morning, but that left Daryl with too many hours to kill before dinner. Even after he'd spent an hour weightlifting with Sasha, it was still only 2:35, and the banquet wasn't until 6:30. He knew the time because Henry had given him a wristwatch, saying, "You're going to need this in the Kingdom. King Ezekiel values punctuality." But the constrictive band felt strange against his skin, so Daryl ended up taking it off and shoving it into his pants pocket.

Having nothing better to do, he continued his explorations of the Kingdom. Daryl peeked into the wide open doors of the wood shop and was surprised to find that all three of the carpenters were women. They caught sight of him before he could slip away, and one shouted, "Are you one of the Alexandrian refugees?"

"Yeah," he said, setting one foot tentatively inside the shop.

She walked over, tucking her long brown hair behind one ear, and held out her hand. "Shannon Moore."

Surprised by the friendliness - he was used to people steering clear of him when they didn't know him - he shook her hand and said, "Daryl Dixon."

"Ah." She let go of his hand. "Carol had me make your bed frame this morning. How did you like it?"

"It...uh...works."

She laughed. "Yeah, Carol said you're kind of rustic and I should just make it purely functional. But I _can_ be artistic."

He glanced over her shoulder at the frame she was working on now, with its intricate carvings of flowers in the headboard, and said, "Yeah. See that."

"Are you with Carol?" she asked.

"Nah. Think she's workin'."

"No, I mean, are you and Carol a couple? I know you're living together, but with the separate bed frames...I wasn't sure."

One of the other carpenters dropped her hammer on the workbench and came over to stand beside Shannon. She looked Daryl up and down, paying special attention to his arms. "I'm Valeria," she said, accenting her vowels. "What _is_ the story with you and Carol?"

"Uh..." He felt weirdly on display. "I...uh...Carol...uh...we..."

Shannon smiled. "It sounds complicated."

Valeria looked at her. "I'd stay away from complicated if I were you."

"I thought you Latina women loved drama," Shannon said.

Valeria rolled her eyes and returned to her workbench.

"How about that cute guy who came in your group?" Shannon asked. "Rick, I think?"

"He's with Michonne." Daryl was taking a step back, ready to flee this awkward situation, when a thought occurred to him. "Tobin!"

"What?" Shannon asked.

"Tobin. He came with our group. He ain't with Carol. I mean, he ain't with anyone." If Tobin got himself a Kingdom girl, then he wouldn't try to go after Carol again. Not that Tobin _seemed_ to be trying, but...

"What's he do?" Shannon asked. "This Tobin?"

"Builds shit. He's on construction. So ya'd have a lot in common."

Shannon chuckled. "Well, thanks for the tip."

The third carpenter lay down her saw, put her hands on her hips, and said, "They should make him Royal Matchmaker."

"Y'all got a Matchmaker?" Daryl asked. "Ya ain't got arranged marriages here, do ya?"

"She was joking," Shannon told him.

"Mhm." Daryl half-nodded and scurried away.

[*]

"Cease fire!" Rick yelled. His eyes swept over the range and then each of the shooting benches. "Range clear! Check your targets!"

Carol walked the 100 yards to examine hers. She brought it back to her bench and began to pack up her gear.

Rick paused at her table and looked at the target she was beginning to fold up. "You've gotten even better. When did you get so good?"

"I've been practicing two hours a day every day since I got here."

Rick smiled. "And I thought you'd gone domestic."

"I like being Palace Chef," she said. "And I'm happy not to have to fight and kill anymore. I feel safe inside these Kingdom walls. But I'd be an idiot not to be prepared in case they ever fall."

Rick shouted at a man at the far end of the range who was picking up his gun while people were still down range. "Commit another safety violation and you're off my range!" The man quickly returned his gun to the bench. "Jesus, some of these people," Rick muttered.

"Well, that's what you get during open hours. I'm sure it's better when the knights are here training."

"They're bad ass," Rick agreed. "No doubt about that. And they seem like good men too."

"And women," Carol reminded him.

"Yeah. I know. Michonne's one now. I was using men generically." He smiled. "When did you become such a feminist?"

Carol zipped up her gear bag with a rasp. "Don't worry. I'm about to head off to the kitchen where I _belong_."

Rick chuckled. "I hear we're having turkey."

"Not tonight. I've got to soak it overnight to make it really tender. We'll be having mixed meat and bean stew tonight. Would you mind sweeping up my brass for me? I'm running a little late."

"This one time," Rick told her. "But I don't want people getting the idea they can just leave it lying around."

Carol slid the strap of the bag over her shoulder. "You've taken to your calling pretty quickly."

"I don't like being out of power here," Rick admitted, looking up and down the range, "but I guess at least I'm in charge of _something_."

[*]

Daryl went back inside the school, on the first floor, in a wing he'd yet to explore. When he saw a sign marked _preschool_ , he peered in through the open top half of the Dutch door because he thought he might find Carl Grimes there. The kid must have already been relieved for the day, however, because the only adult inside was a short, elderly gray-haired lady who sat rocking a little baby.

The woman regarded Daryl warily, until Little Ass Kicker spied him. She toddled two steps toward Daryl, fell, and then crawled at rocket speed toward the door, spluttering, "Dee, dee, dee, deee…"

"Is this your daddy?" the lady asked her.

Daryl swung open the door, came inside, and scooped Judith up. He never could resist that girl. Little Ass kicker seized his nose.

The woman stood, laid the now sleeping baby in a pack n' play, and approached him with her hand extended. "You must be Rick Grimes. I'm Deborah Miller."

Holding Judith in one arm, Daryl pried her fingers from his nose and then shook Deborah's hand, a little more roughly than he'd meant to, and said, "Daryl Dixon. Ain't her daddy. Just her…uh…."

"Godfather?" Deborah asked.

"Dunno. She's everyone's." He situated Judith against his hip as he looked around. There was a small, low wooden table and chairs where four preschool-age kids sat eating animal crackers and staring at him with wide-eyes. The room had a bouncy seat, a swing, two pack n' plays, two rocking chairs, and lots of children's toys. That bun in Maggie's oven would like this place one day, he thought. "Damn, ya done this up like a real nursery. Where'd ya find all this shit?"

Deborah glanced at the little kids at the table, took a step closer to Daryl, and hissed, "Language, sir, please."

"Sorry," muttered Daryl.

"It was already like this," she told him. "The school had vocational child care classes. The nursery was for the kids of teachers and also some of the students, so they could stay in school."

"Huh." Daryl had known more than a few girls who had gotten knocked up in his high school, but the school hadn't done a damn thing to encourage them not to drop out.

"Are you here to pick Judith up?" Deborah looked him over like she wasn't entirely sure she would release the child to him if he was.

"Nah. Reckon her daddy'll get her when he's done at the range." He set Little Ass Kicker back on the ground. "I's just sayin' hi." He ruffled Judith's hair and then left, listening to her fading cry of "Dee, dee, dee" as he made his way down the hall.

He glanced in through the top of another open Dutch door and saw a sort of one-room school house going on inside. There were seven kids in all, who looked like they ranged in age from six to eleven. Gloria Wordsworth was going from desk to desk, helping the students, and she smiled and waved when she saw Daryl. Her familiar greeting made him feel welcome but also embarrassed. He was planning to hurry on when she called cheerfully, "Mr. Dixon! Would you please join us for a minute?"

Hesitantly, and wondering what Henry's wife could possibly want of him, Daryl made his way inside the classroom.

"Say hello to Mr. Dixon," Gloria Wordsworth ordered the students.

"Hello, Mr. Dixon," they all chorused in a sing-songy voice.

"Mr. Dixon is one of our huntsmen," Gloria told them. "Huntsman is one of the many callings you may receive when you turn twelve." She turned to Daryl and explained, "That's when the kids will stop school and begin working, often as apprentices at first. Can you tell the students a little about what you do, Mr. Dixon?"

He didn't know what to say. "Uh...well...I hunt. Game. Food, ya know. To eat."

A hand shot up, and Gloria pointed to the little girl who had raised it. "What's your question, Maritza?"

Martiza asked excitedly, "Is it true you use a bow and arrow to hunt?"

"I use a crossbow."

A boy asked, "Is it true you brought down that deer we ate yesterday with just two arrows?"

Daryl's lips twitched a little. "Uh...yeah. Well, Henry - Mr. Wordsworth - shot it first. With a bullet. In the ass."

"In the ass!" the boy repeated, and all the kids laughed.

Daryl looked apologetically at Gloria, who had raised her red eyebrow. Instead of scolding him, however, Gloria smiled indulgently. It was a warm smile, and she was a pretty woman with a feisty fire in her green eyes. Daryl could see why Henry might like her.

Gloria pointed to another raised hand, and the little boy asked, "Do you get all covered in blood when you like...cut it up and stuff?"

"It can be messy," Daryl answered, "field dressin' somethin'."

"I want to be a knight!" one boy exclaimed. "Not some stupid hunter. Knight's the _best_ calling."

"Andre," Gloria said in a warning voice, "let's not be impolite. All callings are equally valid and equally important to the Kingdom."

"Well _I_ want to be a hunter," Martiza said.

Daryl looked at her and couldn't help but smile. She was the smallest kid in the class, and he couldn't imagine her holding anything bigger than a handgun, if even that.

"Well, perhaps Mr. Dixon would honor us by coming in next week, in the afternoon, to teach a basic hunter's safety class?" Gloria looked at him expectantly.

Why in the hell didn't she just ask Henry to do that? "Uh...well...I..."

"Good!" Gloria clapped her hands together. "We're so happy to have you volunteer. We'll see you at 3 PM on Wednesday. Now say goodbye to Mr. Dixon, class."

"Goodbye, Mr. Dixon," they all sung.

Daryl left the classroom confused about how he'd managed to commit himself to teaching. He threw a glance back at Gloria, who smiled, waved, and shut the top of the Dutch door on him before he could protest.


	24. 24

Daryl pulled the wrist watch out of his pants pocket. _3:30 PM._ Three hours until the banquet. He thought of going to the range to practice, but decided instead to pop into the mechanic's shop to see how the body repairs on Savannah's motorcycle were coming along. He still felt a bit guilty about wrecking it.

Savannah was there examining the finished product. The body repair man - Daryl had no idea what his fancy title might be - watched her, his gaze lingering appreciatively on her ass, as she walked to the end of the bike.

"Mmmm, mmmm," the man murmured. "That bike sure is lucky to have you ride it."

Savannah trailed her fingers over the fender and turned to face him. "I don't get with guys older than twenty-five, so you can stop now."

"Aww, come on. You can't be such a picky princess in the end times, darling."

Daryl cleared his throat to make his presence known. The man took a step back and knocked into a workbench. It rattled, and another mechanic, who had been working beneath the hood of a car, glanced over and then went back to work.

Savannah saw Daryl and smiled. "And my uncle _really_ doesn't like it when men old enough to be my father come on to me. Isn't that right, Uncle Daryl?"

"Mhmh," Daryl murmured, his eyes narrowed on the body repair man.

"You did a good job with the bike, though," Savannah said.

Daryl approached and craned his neck to look it over. It _was_ a beautiful bike, and the man had done good work. "Miss mine," he said.

"Want to ride with me?" Savannah asked. "Do a little scouting? See if we can't find you a new bike?"

"Sure," Daryl said.

"You're a scout?" the body repair man asked.

"He's a huntsman, but he's scouting with me this one time," Savannah said.

"You might have to run that by the Privy Council."

"Well, I won't tell if you don't tell." Savannah winked.

Daryl straddled the bike and Savannah slipped on behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. It felt good roaring out of that shop. At the gates, they slowed to a stop. The palace guard asked, "Purpose for departure?"

"Supply run," Savannah answered.

"Where's your third?"

"Just let us through, Tommy," she said. "Please. We want to ride."

"One moment. Let me just clear this with the Privy Council. I'll be back."

When he was walking away, Savannah slid off the bike and opened the gate. Daryl rolled the motorcycle quietly through. She latched the gate and walked behind him as they squeezed their way tightly through the layer of school buses.

When they emerged on the other side, she mounted the bike behind him. They heard another palace guard, who was on the watch platform, shouting, "Hey!" His voice was quickly drowned in their dust.

A few miles from the Kingdom, they came across a graveyard of cars jamming the parkway. Savannah reached into the pocket of her light, brown leather jacket and then slid some spiked contraption over the knuckles of her left hand.

"What the hell is that?" Daryl asked.

"The latest fashion in brass knuckles," she replied. "The royal metalsmith made it for me." As a walker lurched toward them, she demonstrated its function by punching it in the forehead. The long spikes sunk into its brain, and when she yanked her arm back, the creature slumped to the ground. "See?" she said.

"Yer arm gets awful close to its mouth doin' that."

"Like yours doesn't when you stab them?"

Daryl shrugged.

She shook her hand to splatter some of the excess blood off the spikes and walked on. "What about this one?" she asked, pausing beside a motorcycle.

Daryl looked it over. "Ain't as good as my old one, but it'll do." They siphoned off some gas from a brown sedan, and, with a little work, he got the motorcycle running. They then searched the cars for anything good, mostly walking by the ones with walkers still trapped inside, though Savannah occasionally busted into one and killed its inhabitants when she saw something good. After a few cars, she'd collected six cigarette packs, while Daryl had grabbed two.

"Ya smoke?" Daryl asked as he lit up the cigarette dangling from his mouth. "Ya shouldn't."

"Hypocrite."

"I ain't in the prime of my life." He shook out his match and dropped it on the ground.

"I don't smoke, actually, but these will fetch a pretty penny on the black market."

"Kingdom has a black market?" Daryl asked.

"Every place has a black market," she said, and walked on to the next car.

Daryl peered into the window of a walker-free mini-van. There was a child's empty booster seat in back, and dangling between the two front seats was a portable DVD player. He pulled on the door handle and found it locked. In the heat of an apocalypse, in the midst of fleeing, this family had paused to lock the doors. Go figure.

Daryl smashed the window and took the DVD player.

"What do you want that for?" Savannah asked.

"Owe it to Carol," he said. "Broke hers."

"Well, you know, there are lots of TVs on carts in the school, with DVD players. You can check them out from the library. Sometimes there's a waiting list, but you can usually get one at least two or three nights a week."

"Oh." He slipped the DVD player into the top box on his new motorcycle anyway. Maybe Carol would want her own. "Where do people get the DVDs?"

"The library has a bunch. Mostly educational videos, but they also have a lot of movies based on classic literature."

"They got _Roman Holiday_?"

"Is it based on a classic novel?" Savannah asked.

"Don't think so."

"Then probably not, but you can check when we get back. Let's go a little farther down the road first. We've got some time."

They raced each other on their motorcycles along Rock Creek Parkway, weaving in and out of abandoned cars, until they rounded a bend and encountered an unexpected gaggle of walkers. Savannah skidded into a U-turn, crunched over the foot of one, and nearly fell off her bike before righting it and moving on. Daryl followed, and when they were a safe distance from the herd, he pulled up next to her and shouted, "Ya a'right?"

She slowed down so she could talk to him. "Just a little startled. That's why the Kingdom has the rule of three. What if I didn't turn in time? What if I fell into them and got devoured? You'd be out here alone, no back-up."

Daryl had gone out alone frequently when he was in the prison and in Alexandria. So had Michonne. In Alexandria, Carl had wandered off with only Enid. They'd lived recklessly, all of them. It was amazing any of them had survived as long as they had, but no one was going to tell Daryl what to do. He didn't like the idea of not being able to leave whenever he wanted.

"Race you back to the Kingdom," Savannah said, and she was off in a flash.

[*]

Carol was at work in the kitchen when Daryl got back to the apartment. He put the DVD player in the center of the coffee table and headed for the school library. A woman who was sitting behind the front counter greeted him when he walked in.

"Welcome to the Royal Library. I'm Cynthia."

"Daryl," he said, wondering how many times he was going to have to introduce himself by name in this place. "Uh…DVDs?"

"Five rows down. But we're about to close for the banquet in a few minutes, so please do hurry."

He nodded and made his way to the book case that contained them. He skipped past the math and foreign language instructional DVDs, walked beyond the science and history documentaries, and stopped at the section marked "book to film."

No _Roman Holiday_ , but he picked up _To Kill a Mockingbird_ because he knew Carol liked Gregory Peck. He picked out a couple of others that looked like romances, since that seemed to be her thing – _Wuthering Heights_ , _Jane Eyre_ , and _Pride and Prejudice_. That ought to keep her for a while.

He was walking toward the library door when Cynthia raised her voice and asked, "Excuse me. Are you going to check those out?"

He turned. "Didn't know I had to."

"Well, how else are we going to know who has what if someone wants something?"

"Uh…yeah. How do I…uh…check 'em out?"

"I can assist. I'm the royal librarian."

Daryl walked over to the desk as Cynthia pulled out the checkout log. She recorded his name, room number, the date, and the titles and told him they were due back in four days. "Seems kind of arbitrary," he said. "Why not five?"

"Why not three?" she asked. "We have to have some kind of guideline, so everyone can enjoy the fruits of the Kingdom."

"Hmmm."

"If you'd like a haircut," she told him, "you can see our royal beautician. Her shop is open form 9-5 every day except Monday. It's in the main office."

Daryl wanted to say, "Don't need no damn haircut, bitch." Two years ago, he would have. Instead, he said, "Ya have a nice day, ma'am."

He dropped the movies back at the apartment before changing for the banquet. Eager to see Carol, he walked quickly to the cafeteria.


	25. 25

Daryl, wearing the same long-sleeve, button-down shirt Henry had loaned him yesterday, sat down across from Sasha, who was between Maggie and Michonne. He left an empty seat on either side of himself, to make sure Carol would have a place to sit when she got out of the kitchen. Savannah slid into the empty chair on his left and turned over the glass in front of her plate. She leaned over to Daryl and said, "Make sure I get red wine and not white. I've got to run take a piss." Then she left.

Daryl watched her leave, and when he turned back, there were three sets of female eyes staring at him from the other side of the table - Maggie's, Sasha's, and Michonne's.

Michonne grinned. "Who's your new friend?"

Maggie narrowed her eyes. "Isn't she a little young for you? A _lot_ young?"

"How's Carol going to feel about this?" Sasha asked.

"It ain't like that!" he insisted. "She's my niece!"

Michonne blinked. "Merle's daughter?"

Daryl nodded. "Yeah. Hadn't seen her since...well since she was eight."

"Because he took off on her?" Sasha speculated.

"Nah. Well...he took off on her mama. Merle didn't know about her. Once he did..." Daryl nodded. "He stepped up." Not that Daryl was entirely sure Merle had. He didn't know whose version of events to believe.

"Hmm..." Michonne said.

When Savannah rejoined them, Rick said, "Aren't you going to introduce us to your niece, Daryl?" so he did.

Michonne looked her over reservedly. Savanna touched her nose and cheeks. "Is there something on my face?" she asked.

"No," Michonne said. "Just trying to see the resemblance to Merle."

"You knew my dad?"

Michonne nodded.

"Were you his girlfriend?"

Michonne let out a long, low chuckle. "No."

Savannah looked at Daryl and asked, "Why's that so funny?"

"Because Merle was a racist ass," Sasha told her.

"That and he tried to kill me," Michonne added.

"Shhh!" Daryl hissed.

"It's okay," Savannah told Daryl. "You don't have to protect his image with me. I know he wasn't exactly Prince Charming. I just...with what Carol said...I thought maybe he'd changed toward the end. And he could be fun you know, sometimes. With me. When he bothered to visit." She shrugged.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Michonne told her, sounding penitent. "He may have tried to kill me once, but in the end...he did die fighting the people who were trying to kill us."

Plates and bowls were laid before them on the table, and Daryl picked up his spoon and was about to dig into the stew.

"You're supposed to wait for grace," Carol reminded him as she sat down on the other side of him in the empty chair.

Daryl put his spoon down. He was annoyed by the protocol. Even so, his lips formed a thin, almost imperceptible smile. He didn't know what it was about seeing Carol, exactly, that always made him feel...well, better. Just better.

"Glad you could join us for dinner this time," Rick told her.

King Ezekiel said grace and assumed his armchair throne, Shiva beside him. As before, everyone waited until he picked up his spoon to pick up theirs.

"He's not going to make us wash his feet, is he?" Michonne asked.

"He's not so bad," Sasha said. "He was actually surprisingly charming when I talked to him face to face."

"How'd that meetin' go?" Daryl asked her.

"He wants one of us on the Privy Council." Sasha dipped her roll into her stew. "He was impressed by how the Alexandrians sacrificed and fought during the war. He wants our input. So I volunteered."

"Did ya now?" Daryl asked.

Sasha shrugged. "Why? Were you itching to be in the inner circle?"

"Nah. Just thought ya had to be appointed. Henry said they's appointed."

"Well, I volunteered to let him appoint me," Sasha clarified.

Carl Grimes peered across the table at Savannah. His expression was a mixture of curiosity, suspicion, and admiration. "Why's your hair so weird?"

"I dyed it black for awhile," Savannah answered, "but I'm letting it go back to its natural blond now. Why's _your_ hair so weird? It's wilder than Daryl's."

Rick chuckled. "She's right, you know. You could use a haircut, son."

Carl shook his head and dipped his spoon into his bowl.

After the dinner plates were cleared, and as the coffee and dessert (peaches in heavy cream) was brought out, King Ezekiel's royal page read the evening announcements.

"You missed this part last night," Carol whispered to Daryl.

There were several "royal reminders." There would be a musical concert in the theater this Saturday at 8:30 pm. Another volunteer was needed to assist the royal launderers with the increasing workload, someone whose primary calling left him or her available on Wednesday mornings. A hand went up and King Ezekiel said, "Thank you for your service." Then a new addition to the Privy Council was announced. Sasha was asked to stand.

"The King welcomes to his council a representative of the Alexandrian refugees, Sasha Williams," the page announced. "She will be taking the place of Sir James Wilson, a valiant knight and member of the Privy Council who was sadly lost in the Battle to End All Battles."

There was a smattering of applause and Sasha, looking a combination of embarrassed and proud, sat back down.

"And now, for the delivery of rebukes," the page announced.

"Oh shit," Savannah muttered.

"Rebukes?" Rick asked.

"Daryl Dixon. Savannah Pettigrew. Please rise," the page read.

Carol shot a bewildered look at Daryl.

Savannah sighed and stood up in front of her chair. She gestured to Daryl to stand up. He shook his head. No fucking way he was going to subject himself to this bullshit, whatever it was. "Come on," Savannah hissed. "You don't want to end up with _two_ rebukes."

Gritting his teeth together tightly, Daryl stood. So did King Ezekiel. He put a hand on Shiva's head and scratched behind the tiger's ears. "These two subjects," King Ezekiel boomed, "left the gates this afternoon on an unscheduled outing." There was a deathly silence in the banquet hall. "They did not obey the rule of three. They evaded the palace guards, and thereby put themselves at risk of death. We hope this rebuke shall serve as a reminder to all that the rules are in place for your own safety and for the safety of the Kingdom. The Kingdom's greatest resources are its people. We do not wish to lose a single one of you." He bowed his head in Daryl and Savannah's direction. "You may be seated."

Savannah sat down, but Daryl remained standing, his eyes locked with King Ezekiel's in anger. He felt like he had in elementary school, when that bitch of a third grade teacher made him stand with his nose in the corner because he said _shit_ when he broke his pencil.

"Daryl, sit down," Savannah hissed. "Please." She tugged on his hand.

Daryl's nostrils flared as he slid into his seat.

"What the hell was that?" Rick asked.

"That's some shit I ain't never puttin' up with again, is what that is," Daryl muttered. He shoved back his chair and stormed out of the banquet hall.

[*]

Carol talked to the kitchen servants, told them she was feeling ill, and left her assistant in charge of overseeing the clean-up. Her footfalls echoing through the halls, she headed quickly toward the apartment. Daryl's angry departure worried her.

As she was climbing the stairs to the third floor, he thundered down them, his crossbow and pack on his back.

"Where are you going?" she asked as he passed her.

"Anywhere but here." He clomped down the next four stairs.

"Daryl! Stop!"

He did. She watched his back heave up and down with his sigh.

"Daryl," she said softly. "Don't do this." How many times had she lost him now? She couldn't lose him again. "Please don't go."

He turned slowly around. "I cain't live like this. Havin' to ask permission to take a piss."

"You're exaggerating."

"I ain't in fuckin' grade school!"

"I understand rebukes are embarrassing, but almost everyone has had at least one, and - "

"- Why do ya put up with this shit?" he practically shouted. "What happened to the Carol I knew?"

He didn't understand, and it pained her that he didn't. Maybe he _couldn't_ understand the change upon change she'd gone through and what a relief it was to be the person she could finally be here.

Carol descended the steps between them and stopped when she was one step higher than him, which brought her eyes level with his. "The Carol you knew? Which Carol was that?"

Daryl's lips remained tightly closed.

"The Carol who took her husband's blows?" she asked. "The Carol who hacked his corpse to pieces? The Carol who watched her undead daughter lurch out of a barn after praying and hoping and hoping and praying in vain?"

Daryl swallowed.

"The Carol who outlived Shane and Dale and lost the farm? The Carol who outlived Andrea and T-Dog and Patrick and Hershel? The Carol who killed Karen and David and still lost the prison?" She was speaking faster now, her voice quivering. "The Carol who shot Lizzie in the back of the head because that little girl was _sick_ and had killed her own baby sister, thinking Mika would just be changed?" It was hard to look in Daryl's eyes when she admitted that, but she did, and she saw the shock in them, mingled with sympathy and pain. "The Carol who's killed so many people that she finally stopped counting? The Carol who's nearly died a dozen times and yet outlived so many friends - Beth, Tyrese, Rosita, Abraham, Glenn – "

" – Stop!" Daryl shouted. He lowered his voice and hoarsely whispered, "Stop."

"I can't do it anymore, Daryl. I _can't._ The death, the killing, the suffering, the losing. I can't do it anymore, and here I don't _have_ to. If all I have to do to escape that horror is follow a few fairly reasonable rules and call some bizarre man King, I'm going to swallow my pride and do it. But if you can't – if you can't swallow your pride long enough to see anything worth staying here for - _anything_ at all – **_anyone_ ** at all…then go on. Walk out."

She turned and marched up the stairs.


	26. Chapter 26

Carol was crying when she opened the door to her apartment. She slumped down on the love seat and then saw the DVD player sitting on the coffee table, a stack of DVDs to the left, and a torn sheet of paper, covered in Daryl's chicken scrawl:

 _This place ain't for me. I'm sorry what I did to your DVD player. I'm sorry we couldn't have the prison always._ _\- Daryl_

Carol picked up the paper and sniffled. The dark ink felt slightly raised as she ran her fingertips over the words.

The door swung slowly open and hit the wall with a light plunk. Carol looked over as Daryl slid his pack and crossbow to the tile floor and then shut the door.

"You were going to leave me with just a note," she said.

"That's more than ya left me when you left Alexandria. Ya left yer note for Tobin, didn't ya?"

Carol set the paper on the coffee table. He walked slowly over and slid down next to her.

"I don't want you to go," she said, and her voice trembled. She pressed her lips together to keep the sadness inside.

"I ain't goin' nowhere. I's right here."

The relief seeped through every tense muscle in her body. She blinked back her tears, wiped her eyes with two fingers, and said, "Thank you for the DVD player."

"Couldn't find yer movie though."

She picked up the stack that was there and settled back against the love seat. "I love Colin Firth," she said.

"Who?"

"Mr. Darcy." She held up one of the _Pride and Prejudice_ DVD cases.

"I'll get the popcorn," he said dryly.

She laughed through the fading remnant of her tears. "I don't have any. But I've got a secret bottle of wine Savannah brought me last week from her supply run, hidden in my underwear drawer."

"So ya ain't playin' by all the rules after all?"

"I'm just careful not to get caught."

[*]

When Carol put her head on his shoulder, Daryl stretched his arm out across the back of the love seat. Not around her, exactly, but… _near_ her. Maybe he'd dare to drop it down around her shoulders later. But for now, his left hand rested on the back of the love seat, and his right hand held a glass of wine. His bare feet were up on the table next to the DVD player, and his shoulder made a pillow for Carol's head. His side felt warm from her soft body leaned against his.

Daryl was still angry about the public humiliation, but he'd been thinking while the movie played out on the small DVD screen. Every leader in this world came with terrible flaws. He'd endured worse behavior from Rick in the beginning. Rick had cuffed his brother to a roof and left Merle for dead. There was a time when Rick had not been running a democracy either, and he was taking no advice. Even _after_ they'd created a council, Rick had still banished Carol without even so much as _consulting_ Daryl.

And then...one day...Rick had called him his brother.

Daryl couldn't envision ever relating to Ezekiel in that way, but if this was where his people were, then this was where he was, too. He'd been ready to leave, but he wasn't sure how long he would have survived out there alone, or cared if he did. There was no place he wanted to be if Carol wasn't there.

So he would stay. For now. He would obey the rules until they chaffed, and then he would try not to get caught breaking them. And if he was caught, well...he'd decide what to do then.

Daryl took a small sip of his wine. He was savoring it, because Carol had said she wanted to save half the bottle for tomorrow night. "What an ass," he said as they watched.

"He's just shy." Carol's glass – which only had an ounce left – rested on the coffee table.

"He ain't shy. He's an arrogant prick. Ya just like him 'cause he's good-lookin'."

"Well, okay, you're right, he is arrogant. That's why it's called _Pride_. But it's _Pride and Prejudice._ Elizabeth's taken a dislike to him before she's really gotten to know what a good man he is at heart."

"Damn stupid female fantasies," Daryl said. "Women always thinkin' some guy who's an asshole on the outside is really just all sweet and sensitive deep down inside. That ain't real life."

Carol peered up at him and smiled.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing." She looked back at the movie.

They watched in silence for several minutes. Daryl shifted his arm on the back of the couch, a little lower, but he didn't drop it on her shoulders. He wasn't sure if she wanted him to, but she was lounging against his side like he was some kind of pillow. It didn't even feel awkward to him, to have her curled up against him. It felt good. It reminded him of the comforting warmth of that stray kitten he'd brought home when he was ten.

His pa had drop kicked that kitten out the back door three days later, because it had pissed all over his _Playboys_. Daryl ran after it, gathered it up, and comforted it while his father called him "a pussy who wuvs his little pussy" and then shouted, "Get rid of it before I do!" So Daryl took it and hiked a mile, and then built a dugout in a hill for the little thing. He kept it there in a towel-lined cardboard box and visited it daily to feed and play with it. Sometimes he would lie down on the cool forest floor and let it curl up against his chest. And then one day, it just wasn't there.

Daryl had tried tracking it but couldn't find its prints much beyond the dugout. He never knew what happened to it until two years later, when he was drinking moonshine on Old Man Wilson's back porch with the Wilson boys, and they started laughing about that time they'd found a kitten, strapped it with bottle rockets, and tried sending it into outer space. Daryl had smashed his mason jar in half against the porch railing and lunged at the oldest brother with the cut edge. Daryl ended up with a black eye and they ended up with a few stitches each, and he never explained to them why he'd reacted the way he had. They stopped inviting him over for moonshine and started saying things around school and the neighborhood like, "Stay away from Daryl Dixon. He's as crazy as on outhouse rat" and "That kid's only got one oar in the water," and "He's two bricks short of a load." The other kids listened, and they _did_ stay away from Daryl, but that was all right, because by then he'd decided he was better off alone. He didn't need friends.

But he'd missed that damn kitten.

Daryl let his arm slide down and rest across Carol's shoulders, as casually as he could. He wasn't sure if he was doing it right, but she didn't pull away. In fact, he thought maybe she snuggled in a little closer.

"Mr. Darcy has such a smoldering gaze," Carol said. "You can really see the emotion in his eyes."

"Probably 'cause that thing around his neck is choking him. What the hell is that?"

"It's a cravat."

"Why the hell ya know all this?" he asked her. "Ya grew up in small town Georgia."

"I've been to the big city!" she insisted.

"Atlanta, not London. And in the 21st century, not the...whenever the hell this was."

"1800s," she told him.

Another chunk of time passed in silence, until Daryl asked, "They ever do anything besides talk and dance? Why ain't any of these soldiers fightin'?"

"They're on leave."

"Bet you could see those red coats comin' a mile away."

"Well, maybe that's why we won the Revolutionary War."

"They really dress like this back then?" Daryl asked.

"In sexy, dark suits?" Carol teased.

"Nah. Meant the women. With their…uh…ya know… in those dresses."

Carol chuckled. "Women did seem to know how to emphasize their assets in the Regency period."

Daryl could feel his face flushing, and he wished he hadn't mentioned the dresses. But it was hard not to notice how on-display those tits were. They were all squeezed together and pushed up and popping out right in his face, and all he wanted to do was flit his eyes down to Carol's chest, but he kept his eyes on the screen.

"Be quiet," Carol said. "He's about to propose."

"Weren't even talking." Daryl watched and sipped his wine in silence until the proposal scene was over, and Elizabeth had roundly rejected Mr. Darcy. "So she _does_ realize he's an asshole."

"Well, she turned him down _that_ time," Carol said. "But she'll accept him the second time."

"Why? Is he gonna get even richer?"

"No! She goes and sees his estate, and then she realizes – "

"- How rich he is?" Daryl asked.

"No!" Carol smacked him playfully on the chest. "What a generous landlord he is, and how much he's been humbled by her rebuke."

"Don't get why that other guy didn't want to marry her. The colonel?"

"It's a class thing," said Carol, sitting forward to pluck up her wine and then settling back against him again.

"She ain't that poor though. Ain't like she's in a double wide."

"Colonel Fitzwilliam is also Lady Catherine de Bourgh's nephew. The family expects him to marry wealth or title. That's why Mr. Darcy said he wanted to marry Elizabeth _despite_ knowing she was beneath him."

"Hell, even I know better than to come onto a woman by sayin' she's beneath me. And I ain't no gentleman."

Carol's breath tickled him when she giggled. He loved the sound of her happy giggle. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, staying in this place, if he got to come home to this every night. This and...maybe...one day...maybe something more.

Daryl would swallow his pride, he decided, for the time being - but not without keeping a suspicious eye on King Ezekiel. Not without keeping his friends close to his breast. Not without keeping a weapon within arm's reach at all times. He glanced at the end table to make sure his handgun was still there.

Carol leaned forward and stopped the DVD player. "It's midnight, and you're hunting at sunrise."

"Mhmm." He watched her lower the screen and latch it shut. He wanted her head back on his shoulder, her side pressed again to his. "But the movie ain't over."

"Miniseries," she clarified. "We'd be up until 2 AM if we tried to finish it." Carol stood, stretched, and yawned. "There's still two glasses of wine in the bottle. Let's save it for tomorrow."

 _[-]_

Carol watched Daryl pick up the cork and work it slowly back into the bottle. "You have to stop teasing the opening and just ram it in there hard," she said.

He flushed red. "Stop." He looked embarrassed, but not the kind of angry embarrassed he'd looked in the banquet hall beneath King Ezekiel's rebuke. He was adorable in his awkwardness.

She smiled. "Sorry. I couldn't resist."

He pounded the cork with the edge of his fist and it went down halfway into the bottle.

"Goodnight," she told him.

"'Nite. Try not to wake ya tomorrow like I did before."

"I guess you're right. You don't need the alarm." Carol slipped behind her bedroom curtain and began to change for bed.

She didn't fall asleep right away. She lay in her bed for another hour, looking at the patterns the moonlight painted on the stucco ceiling tiles above and listening to Daryl's occasional, sudden, short-lived snore erupt from the other side of the bookcases.

Carol wondered if he was remaining in the Kingdom just for her. She wondered, also, what he would do if she slipped past the edge of the bookcase, slid her body along the red curtain to his room, and then crawled straight into his bed.

She wondered...but she was afraid to find out. The bed creaked gently in its frame as she rolled onto her side, closed her eyes, and willed herself to sleep.


	27. Chapter 27

Henry ran his fingertips across the dirt. "The deer went this way." He rose and walked on, his rifle slung casually over his shoulder. The man hadn't said a word about what had happened at the banquet last night. None of the huntsmen had.

"Ya ever get a rebuke?" Daryl asked him.

"Yes. For hunting beyond the Royal Forest."

"It piss you off? Him tellin' ya where ya can hunt?"

"Yes. So we ignored his rebuke and we did it again."

"Good for ya," Daryl said.

"And the second time we did it, we ran into the Saviors. That was the day they learned about the Kingdom. If we hadn't hunted beyond the Royal Forest..." Henry shook his head. "My son, and several of our knights, would still be alive."

Daryl swept some leaves with his boot, saw a print in the dirt below, and changed directions. "They'd of found ya, sooner or later."

"Who's to say they would have?" Henry asked, falling in step with him. "The King's rebuke was nothing. My son's blood rebukes me."

"Them Saviors...they killed a lot of people 'fore they killed yer boy. But if they had never found ya, and the Kingdom hadn't gone to war with 'em...well, they'd still be killin' people."

Henry glanced at him. "Maybe." They tracked in silence for awhile, until Henry said, "Have you ever done anything you regret? Have you ever thought, if only I had been more cautious? If only I had listened to what others were telling me?"

Daryl thought of his angry quest for revenge when he left Alexandria, of Glenn following him and telling him he was doing it for himself. He closed his eyes as a vision of blood and barbed wire assaulted his brain. He squinted his eyelids tightly, and shook his head as though that could shake the image away. He opened his eyes and admitted, "There's innocent blood on my hands, too. But I cain't..." He sighed and fell silent.

"What can't you do, mate?" Henry asked.

"Just...who the hell made this King Ezekiel God?"

"The Kingdom was wondrously strange to me the day I entered it," Henry said. "But then I thought of something."

"Yeah. What's that?"

"Before the Turn, I lived every day of my life beneath the intricate laws and regulations of governments that, half the time, I wasn't even qualified to vote for. I lived by cultural customs that make about as much rational sense as anything done in the Kingdom. Say this pledge, sing this song, take off your hat, celebrate this day, put your napkin in your lap, go to this school for this many years, and then go to another. I didn't think anything of it."

Henry rested his hand on his boomerang as he walked on. "But then the world crumbled, and I became the king of my own little world. Or perhaps we were a triumvirate, my wife and son and I, and we learned to trust no law but our own. So it was a strange thing, coming here and surrendering my crown. Strange...but also a relief. And I've come to appreciate the law and order that King Ezekiel has established here, the customs that make us a community, the customs the next generation will accept from birth like a glue that binds them to their people."

 _The next generation?_ Lori had given birth, and Maggie was pregnant, but this was the first time Daryl had ever heard anyone talk quite like that - as if the world was going to go on, as if humanity would still be pressing on when they were all long gone.

Daryl stopped, stood still in the forest, and listened to the chirping cardinals in the branches above. He looked up at the sun filtering through the majestic canopy of trees and felt its warmth on his face. "Hate rules. They feel like an iron cage to me. I ain't never lived by 'em."

"Yeah?" Henry asked. "And how's that been working out for you?" When Daryl didn't answer him, he walked on.

Twigs snapped beneath the weight of Daryl's boots as he caught up.

"I take it you've never been married," Henry said with a smile.

Daryl shook his head.

"Twenty-three years to my first wife, six months now to Gloria. You learn to compromise."

"King Ezekiel ain't my wife," Daryl muttered.

"No. But what he's created here...It's keeping the people you care about from dying. It's keeping Carol from dying."

"I kept Carol alive just fine out there." Daryl thought of Terminus. "Well...she kept me alive, too. We kept each other alive."

"There's alive," Henry said, stopping and slipping his boomerang from his belt. "And then there's living." He flung the weapon gracefully at a low flying dove and brought the bird to the ground. "The Kingdom makes it possible to live. The Kingdom, for all its odd rituals and vocabulary, is more like the world before the Turn than any place you've been since."

Daryl followed Henry to the fallen bird. It was still weakly flapping its wings, so he shot it with his bow. Maybe that was his problem. _His_ world had _never_ been like the larger world before the Turn.

But Carol's had. If you didn't count Ed's unpredictable abuse, she'd probably had lots of very ordinary days, with PTA meetings and block parties and dinner times and church on Sunday. In the old world, she never would have looked twice at a man like him. Only in a crumbling world would she have ever respected him or leaned on him.

But here? In the Kingdom? How long could she possibly need him here?

[*]

Sasha pushed up the barbell with a grunt.

"Ten," Daryl said, and helped her position it in the slots. "Ya should take a day off between, ya know."

She swung her feet off the bench, sat up, and grabbed a hand towel from the floor. "Twenty-four hours in between is fine for me, Daryl. I'm not exactly new at this." Sasha wiped her sweat-slick brow. Her dark, muscular arms glistened, and her white tank top clung tightly to her breasts.

The realization struck Daryl, like an unexpected bolt of lightening, that Sasha was physically attractive. He was starting to notice the beauty of women more often than he used to - all sorts of women - which was strange, considering there was only one woman he _actually_ wanted. It wasn't as though he'd had no sexual feeling before, or that he hadn't jerked off periodically for release, but an awareness of real-life women _as women_ had never been anywhere near the forefront of his mind. He'd failed to fulfill his sexual desires for so long that some part of him had been dulled by that lack of physical connection. But these days, it was like a light had been turned on in a previously dormant part of his brain. It was as if, by desiring Carol, that entire part of his mind had been reawakened.

Feeling suddenly shy, he looked away from Sasha.

She stood up. "So what do you need," she asked with a friendly smirk in her voice that relaxed him, "another five pound plate on each side?"

"Yer strong," he said, "but ya ain't that strong. Bring me forty." He lay back on the bench. This was their last set of the routine.

When he was done with his reps, and standing and sipping from a water bottle, he felt her looking at him. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said. "I was just thinking Carol's a lucky girl."

"Why?"

"Because you're not bad looking for a redneck."

Daryl didn't piece together her implication that he somehow belonged to Carol. Instead, he was irritated by that word. He never understood why they could all call him a redneck, but the second Merle called T-Dog...

"You look mad," Sasha said with a laugh.

"Tell you what. My neck ain't nearly as red as Abe-ra - " He stopped suddenly. Disgusted with the slip, he tightened the cap on his water bottle. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I'm so damn tired of people tiptoeing around it! You can say his name, you know. You can say Glenn's name, too. Maggie wouldn't mind. Neither of us would mind if someone else just acknowledged that they existed! That they lived and breathed and meant some - " She took in a shaky sigh and swallowed. Her eyes were wet but not overflowing.

"Fuck," Daryl muttered, not knowing what to do about the fact that she was practically crying. "I ain't no good at this."

Sasha smiled, shook her head, and slapped her towel in the laundry basket against the wall of the weight room. "Just know that you can talk about Abraham to me. It's all right. And his neck _was_ red. His whole face, really."

Daryl chuckled and looked down at his water bottle. "Sorry he's dead," he said. He looked up at her hesitantly. "Glad he lived."

"Yeah, me too." Sasha pinched away the few loose tears that were beginning to seep form her eyes and walked toward the door of the weight room. Daryl walked with her and opened the door for her.

Sasha chuckled. "Training in chivalry, are you? Want to join the knights?"

"Not unless there's war." He let the door fall shut. Daryl followed her through the gym, sticking to the sidelines, because some of the knights were training. There were three fencing matches going on across the gym at the moment. "Much rather hunt than spend all day playin' with swords and horses. And I only got to deal with a few other people when I hunt. Three in the truck, one in the forest." He guessed the rule of three didn't apply to the huntsmen once they set foot in the Royal Forest.

"You like them?" Sasha asked, holding the gym door open for him as they exited into the hall.

"They don't bother me none. Henry's a'right."

"All right? Now if that's not the Daryl Dixon seal of approval, I don't know what is." She stopped walking, because she was now in front of the door to the girls' locker room. They boys' was a little ways beyond it. "Well, I have to go freshen up. The king has requested another audience with me."

"Yeah? Well don't let 'em spank you."

She smiled. "Who knows? I might like it."

Daryl narrowed his eyes at her. "Was talkin' 'bout the rebukes."

"I know what you were talking about. I was joking. Although...he _does_ have a sexy voice. Nice body, too. And someone from our group needs to get close to him."

"Not _that_ close."

She shrugged.

"Are ya bein' serious right now?"

Sasha chuckled. "No. Not really." He began to feel relieved, but then she said, "But it doesn't hurt my influence that he's attracted to me."

"Has he come onto ya?"

"No, not in any obvious way. But I can tell he's attracted."

"How can ya tell?" Daryl asked.

"A girl can just tell. Like I can tell, for instance, that you're attracted to Carol. Even if you don't ever do a damn thing about it."

Daryl looked straight down at his boots.

"Sorry," Sasha said. "That's none of my business, I know."

"When ya advise him," Daryl said, looking back up at her now that he'd changed the subject, "ya oughta talk him out of the rebukes. Ain't no way to treat people. If he's got a problem with someone, he ought to talk to 'em. Face to face. Man to man. Not treat him like a fuckin' child in front of everyone. That ain't gonna make 'em listen."

"I agree with you. And I'll mention it if I find a good place to work it in. But I need to make any suggestions seem natural. I've got to gain his trust and good opinion before I start pushing him too hard in any particular direction."

"Be careful," he told her. "Don't know what game yer playin' with King Looney Tunes, but...Be careful."

"Yes, father." Sasha smiled and pushed open the locker room door.


	28. Chapter 28

Droplets of water wound their way between Daryl's pectoral muscles, across his taut abdomen, and soaked their way into the towel around his waist. He dropped his dirty clothes in the basket marked, _court laundry._ Apparently, that basket was collected nightly, and the clothes were washed, dried, folded, and then returned to a shelf in the locker room by the next evening. It was like magic.

He walked on to his assigned locker, opened it - there were no locks - and pulled out his white muscle shirt.

"What happened to your back?"

Daryl had thought the locker room was empty. He quickly pulled on the shirt to cover the lashes. When he turned around, Henry was standing on the other side of the bench. The huntsman wore only a pair of black boxers as he toweled off his thick, gray-blonde hair. Daryl did a double-take when he noticed the large, patterned tattoo on his chest and shoulder - a series of concentric circles made with black and red dots. Henry wasn't the sort of man Daryl would expect to have a tattoo. "What's all that mean?" he asked, as much to change the subject as out of curiosity.

"It means I'm an idiot. I lived with the aborigines for a few months while I was doing my doctoral work in anthropology. They gave it to me one night after they got me drunk, told me it meant all these deep, significant things. Turns out they were just having a joke. What do your disembodied demon wings mean?"

"Same thing. Hell, only half remember gettin' it. Think I told the man I wanted a sexy angel."

Henry laughed. "Don't we all." He opened his locker, pulled out his pants, and stepped into them, saying, "My sexy angel tells me you're going to teach a hunter's safety unit to her class next Wednesday."

"Don't know why she didn't just ask ya."

Henry zipped up. "I have rehearsal in the afternoons."

"Rehearsal?" Daryl asked.

"For the orchestra. I play the violin. There were all sorts of instruments in the band room, so King Ezekiel thought - why not? All part of the bread and circuses, I suppose, but I like playing. The next concert is this Saturday, after the banquet. Are you coming?"

"Concerts ain't really my thing."

"It would make a great date night," Henry said. "For you and Carol. Not a lot of places you can take a girl in this world."

"Mhm." Did Henry think he was _dating_ Carol? Were people actually _dating_ in this world? Daryl grabbed his pants and boxers out of the locker and shut it. Then he walked past the bench to disappear behind a shower curtain. He didn't like getting dressed or undressed in front of people.

When he came out dressed, Henry was still in the locker room, shaving over the sink. Daryl tossed his towel in the nearby laundry basket.

"I know it seems silly to shave when I hardly have any stubble," Henry said, "but Gloria prefers a smooth cheek."

"Hmm."

"Carol likes the scruff, though, I suppose?"

"Dunno."

"You should really come to the concert." Henry ran the straight blade down his left cheek, clearing off the last bit of shaving cream. "Your niece will be in it, too."

"Savannah?" Daryl asked.

"She plays the flute. She's excellent, even though she misses half of the rehearsals."

"Huh." She'd never mentioned that.

"I thought Savannah might possibly be my daughter-in-law one day." Henry rinsed his razor, tapped it inside the sink, and began shaving his other cheek. "How does she seem to be doing to you these days?"

"A'right. Strong girl."

"Maybe a little too strong," Henry said. "She's like steel encased in iron. John always loved her more than she loved him."

"Ya get tired of losin' people." Daryl didn't like to hear Savannah criticized. He barely knew her, but she was all he had left of Merle. "Ya learn to protect yerself."

Henry wiped down his smooth cheeks. "There's no time, in this world, to guard your heart. You should love the one you're with, for as long as you have the privilege of being with her."

Daryl looked down at the water swirling in a slow circle around the drain of the sink, washing the shaving cream little by little into the depths below.

[*]

When Daryl was heading to the stairwell later, Savannah caught up with him. "Want to go riding with me before the banquet?" she asked.

He paused with one hand on the rail. "Ain't ya got rehearsal?"

She smiled. "Didn't know you knew I played. But I can miss one more practice. I feel like riding."

"Ya really want another rebuke?"

Savannah tilted her head. "And here I thought you were the cool uncle."

"Just don't like drawin' attention to myself."

"I got permission this time. And I got us a third."

"A'right," Daryl said. "Guess ya'll have to introduce me."

"You know him. It's Carl Grimes."

"Carl don't ride."

"He's going to ride with me," Savannah said. "I'm going to be teaching him."

"Hmm…and was this your idea or his?"

Savannah smiled. "He's just a boy, Uncle Daryl."

Daryl turned to follow her and fell in step beside her. "That boy's killed more people than ya can count. Some maybe he didn't even have to."

"Haven't we all?"

[*]

At first, Daryl had fun racing bikes with Savannah. She was fast, and agile, and a challenge to keep up with. Carl was riding behind her, his hands around her waist, his eyes shut tight against the speed. But when Savannah slowed to a stop, got off her bike, and told Carl it was time to teach him to ride, Daryl had nothing to do but ride circles around them, killing time.

He watched Carl make stupid mistake after stupid mistake, while Savannah yelled at him like a football coach. Carl's expression seemed a cross somewhere between scared and turned on.

Daryl got bored and frustrated and started feeling like a chaperone. "Better be gettin' back," he told them. "Gotta get ready for the banquet."

[*]

When Carol finally freed herself from the kitchen to join her friends, it was already dessert time. Daryl had, once again, kept an empty spot next to himself for her at the table. She sat down with a smile just as a cup of decaf coffee was deposited before her by a kitchen servant.

The page began the evening announcements. At the conclusion, he said, "There is to be a change in procedure. Henceforth, public rebukes will only be issued after a second infraction for the same offense. First offenses will be discussed in a private meeting with His Royal Highness."

Daryl leaned forward toward Sasha, who sat opposite him. "That ain't _exactly_ what I meant."

"It's a start," she said. "It's something."

"What did ya have to do to get just that much?"

"I blew him, of course," Sasha said dryly. "What do you think? I used my words. I'm pretty good with words, actually." Sasha rolled her arm and rubbed her shoulder. "Let's just work legs tomorrow. You might have been right about resting a bit more in between."

Carol looked from Sasha to Daryl. "Work legs?" she asked.

"Daryl and I lift weights together."

"Oh." Carol was annoyed by a completely unreasonable stab of jealousy.

"You can join us if you want," Sasha said.

"No, that's okay," Carol said. "Weights aren't really my thing, and I usually spend the early afternoon at the firearms range practicing."

"She's damn good, too," Rick said. "Daryl, you should see how close Carol's groups are now."

Daryl glanced at her. "Don't surprise me none."

Carol smiled at him. "Well, I did have a good teacher at the prison."

"This isn't Daryl's doing," Rick said. "You've gotten better since you left Alexandria. Competition level."

"Better than you?" Michonne asked.

Rick shook his head. "I hate to admit it, but..."

Michonne chuckled.

After finishing her desert, Carol excused herself to return to the kitchen.

Daryl grabbed her hand. "Sit down," he ordered. "Relax. Ain't fair ya had to eat dinner on yer feet in the kitchen, and ya only get a few minutes to sit for dessert?"

"This is my job, Daryl, and I don't work in the mornings like you do. I earn my place. Just like everyone else."

He let go of her hand. "Fine. But yer gonna relax tonight when ya get in."

She smiled all the way to the kitchen.

[*]

Daryl had his handgun disassembled on the breakfast table and was ramming a cleaning rod in and out of the barrel when Carol entered the apartment. He didn't look up until she was sitting down across from him.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey." He continued to pump the rod back and forth.

She smiled. "That's pretty hot."

"Stop." He slid the rod slowly out, removed the now blackened cloth, and began to reassemble the gun. "Want to finish yer movie?"

Carol thought it was sweet that he was offering to do something she liked. "That's okay. We don't have to."

"Don't mind if ya want to watch it. I can suffer through."

"I've seen it twice before." She didn't want to bore him with it.

"Yeah, but, it's probably been awhile." He clicked the last piece of his gun in place, racked the slide open, and peered inside. Satisfied, he lay the gun back down on the table.

Carol smiled with a sudden realization. " _You_ want to watch it."

"Nah!" he insisted. "Don't give a shit 'bout no damn romance movie." He shrugged. "But I ain't got nothin' better to do."

"You already know he gets the girl. I told you that."

"Yeah, I know how all these things are _s'posed_ to end. Just ain't quite sure how the guy gets there."

Carol stood. "I'll get the movie going. You re-open the wine."

While Carol readied the DVD player, Daryl struggled to get the cork back out of the bottle. He broke it off halfway, and then had to work it loose, but he lost part of it in the bottle. When he poured, a little bit of the cork flecked into the glasses. He sat down next to her, put his glass on the coffee table, and then fished out the cork piece from hers with his fingers. He then sucked the wine off his fingertips and handed her the glass.

"Good thing alcohol is sanitary," she said.

"Washed my hands 'fore dinner." He picked up his glass and fished out the flecks from it, too, before licking his fingertips. Daryl didn't seem to have the faintest idea how maddening Carol found that habit. It was crude and disgusting and...well...naughty and sexy...Carol leaned forward and pressed play.

The disk whirred into motion as Daryl put his bare feet up on the coffee table.

"That's not really a hassock," she told him.

"Is now."

Carol settled against his side, since he hadn't protested about it last night. As she hoped, he let his arm fall over her shoulders, this time right away. His arm didn't feel nearly as awkward as it had last night. His muscles were firm, but not stiff. His body seemed relaxed. She tilted her head and leaned it on his shoulder as they watched.

When the movie neared one of her favorite parts, she said, "The wet shirt scene is coming up."

"The what?"

"Mr. Darcy goes swimming. See?"

"Why the hell does he swim in his clothes?"

"Why? Do you always go skinny dipping?" She had a vision of Daryl diving naked off a dock into a deep lake of water.

"When I's alone. He don't know she's there. Well, he does now. Why's she turning away? Ain't like he's neked."

"Well, back then, that practically _was_ naked. That and she can't stand his hotness. It's blinding her."

Daryl grunted. "She thinks that giant house is hot."

Carol chuckled. "I wonder if there are people living in estates like that in England now, just surviving."

"Hell," Daryl said. "Maybe other countries ain't even got walkers. Maybe they's just goin' on as always."

"Wouldn't they know about us here and send help, then?" Carol asked.

"More likely bomb the shit out of us so it don't spread."

"Well, you're a bit cynical."

He shrugged. "It's what we'd do."

"No, it's not. We'd the send the Red Cross. Fly in and drop a bunch of food. Shoot walkers from the air."

"Yeah? They couldn't even do that here. Cain't believe we's survivin' and the military couldn't deal with it."

"It is odd," Carol agreed. She sipped her wine and enjoyed the feel of Daryl's strong body next to hers as she watched. To her surprise, he began to move his thumb in a slow circle across her skin, just below the edge of the short sleeve of her shirt, but he didn't do it for long.

"I like that," she said.

"The carriage?"

"No...the rubbing."

He began to move his thumb again. Then he used all his fingers to gently massage the side of her shoulder. When she turned her head to smile at him, Daryl got that _Oh-God-I'm-touching-a-girl_ awkward look in his eyes and stopped rubbing. Carol wished she hadn't spooked him and returned her eyes to the movie. He was quiet for most of the rest of the film, but he at least kept his arm draped around her shoulders.

When the carriage was driving away from the church after the wedding scene, Carol observed, "That's the first time they've kissed."

"That's weird. Marryin' someone ya ain't even kissed yet."

"It is weird," she agreed. "Knowing and desiring someone for a long time and not doing anything but exchanging lingering glances for scene after scene after scene."

"Guess that's how it was back then." He stood and stretched the arm that had been around her shoulders, pulling on it across his chest. She heard a pop. "Gotta hit the hay." He began to retreat toward the curtain.

"Can you pick up your boots?" she asked. "Bring them in your room instead of leaving them in the middle of the floor?"

He stopped, sighed, and walked back a few steps to the boots that were lying on the other side of the coffee table. "Yer a bit of a nag, ya know that?" He bent over and picked them up.

"Maybe I just wanted to get a good look at your ass."

"Stop." As he turned to head toward the curtain, she saw the faintest smile toying at the corner of his lips.


	29. Chapter 29

Henry was whistling when he started the pick-up. Daryl settled his crossbow on the floorboards between his feet. The gates swung open and two of the guards moved some of the school buses so the pick-up could drive through.

Daryl didn't understand why they didn't just leave all the vehicles beyond the buses to avoid all this inconvenient moving around. It wasn't as if anyone could steal a car from an outer lot without the notice of the palace guard on the observation platform. Maybe he'd tell Sasha to suggest an external parking lot to Ezekiel. It was quite possible the king was intentionally making it difficult for people to leave the Kingdom unobserved. Ezekiel's reaction to the suggestion would be telling.

"Did you have a good night again?" Al asked.

"I don't know what aphrodisiac Carol's been putting in her recipes," Henry replied, "but I for one thank her for it."

Jakob said, "Well, zen my wife needs to eat more of her cooking."

"It looks like your wife has been eating plenty," Al replied with a broad smile.

Jakob leaned forward and smacked him on the back of his head. "She is pregnant, you ass. Zis is why you have no luck with the ladies."

"Apparently you do not either," Al said. "How about you, Daryl? Any good news to share with the group?"

"What?"

"Any progress on the western front?" Al asked.

"What the fuck are ya talkin' 'bout?" Daryl asked.

"I zink," Jakob said, "zat he is afraid to leave the trench and attempt ze crossing."

All three huntsmen laughed.

[*]

When Daryl walked into the weight room that afternoon after hunting, he found Sasha was not alone. In fact, Rick, Carol, and Michonne were all standing in a circle on the open mat space before the free standing weights. "What's goin' on?" he asked.

"Sasha has an in with King Ezekiel," Michonne replied. "She's on the Privy Council."

"Yeah, I know," Daryl said. It still didn't explain why they were all standing here.

"We need to decide how to exploit that," Carol said.

"We're planning to meet here twice a week," Rick told him. "Sasha will give us a report about what she's learned about the inner workings of the Kingdom, and we'll talk about what sort of ideas we think she should try to plant in Ezekiel's ear."

Daryl looked around the circle. "This is our Council now?" It reminded him of the prison, except that Glenn and Hershel were gone, and Rick and Michonne hadn't been on that council.

"This is it," Rick said. "You in?"

Daryl nodded. "Fuck yeah. I'm just glad y'all finally realized we need to have some power in this place."

[*]

Rooming with Carol had its advantages and disadvantages. One of the advantages was that she really did make that stark classroom feel like a home. Daryl didn't give a rat's ass about curtains and flowers and area rugs...but he had to admit it just _felt_ peaceful in their apartment. But there were disadvantages, too. She was always picking up after him, so that he never knew where any of his shit was and he had to _ask_ her. She told him if he would just put it away neatly, he'd know where it was, and he told her, "If ya'd leave my shit alone, I'd know where it was, too!"

This evening, some time after the banquet, he was tearing up the apartment looking for his quiver so he could clean the blood off his arrows when he realized she'd hung it on the wall of his bedroom on a new hook she'd installed. He muttered a curse, took it down, and went to the breakfast nook table to start wiping them down.

He was sliding a rubbing-alcohol-soaked cloth over the last of the tips when Carol came in, slid down in the chair opposite him, and lay a dark blue box on the table. She'd apparently stopped to take a shower on her way back from the kitchen. Her gray hair looked almost black when it was wet, and she was already in her sweat pants and a pale yellow tank top. The tank top clung tightly to her breasts, and it was clear she didn't have a bra on underneath it. He tried not to glance at the outline of her breasts, or the dark hint of her nipple against the fabric. He nodded to the box. "What's in it?"

"Trivial Pursuit. Found it in the student lounge. You want to play with me?"

It had been a long time since they'd played a game together, not since the prison, when they'd played truth or dare, and his brain had locked, and she'd left his cell, even though he hadn't wanted her to. "What is it?"

"It's a board game. You've never played it?"

Daryl shook his head and slid his arrow into his quiver. "I'm too much of a dumb ass for trivia games."

"You are _not_ dumb, Daryl."

"Don't like trivia."

"Okay," she said, sounding disappointed. "Morgan might play it with me tomorrow morning. He doesn't go to work until almost noon."

"Didn't say I wouldn't play!" Daryl was afraid she might just go to bed and read if he didn't agree to play. The truth was, he'd been looking forward to her getting back to the apartment. He'd been half listening for the sound of the door the entire time he was cleaning his arrows. "Just...yer gonna massacre me."

[*]

Daryl smacked his playing piece against the board three times and headed toward the pink triangle. Carol could tell he was getting frustrated and wished she'd suggested watching a movie instead. She already had four pie pieces – history, arts and literature, geography, and entertainment - and he only had one: Science and Nature. He'd gotten a question about the most poisonous snake in North America, and he'd answered immediately, but he hadn't had much luck with the other categories.

Carol pulled a card out of the deck and pretended to read the Entertainment question, but instead she made up her own: "Who stars opposite Gregory Peck in _Roman Holiday_?"

"Audrey Hepburn!"

Carol smiled. "You got it!" she said, and slipped the card in the back of the deck.

Daryl rubbed his hands together before picking up a pink triangle and working into his pie piece. He landed on a roll again and then found his way to a Sports & Leisure triangle. She knew from previous questions that he clearly hadn't followed football or baseball or probably much of any other sport, and he certainly wasn't going to know the answer to this question about yachting she'd just pulled. So she made up another question: "In the sport of hunting, when is open season for deer?"

"Well, depends on the state."

"Oh, sorry, I left off the end of the question. In the state of Georgia."

"Well, depends. Bow season's different than firearms season and that's different than primitive weapons. And, hell, they change it year to year. It ain't always the same. That's a dumb ass question. What's it say the answer is?"

"I'll just give you another one."

"I wanna see what they claim it is." Daryl held out his hand for the card.

Carol hastily slipped the card in the middle of the box. "Oops. I don't know where the card is now. I'll just pull you a new one." She slid another card from the end of the box. It was a Nascar question. Maybe he had a chance with this one. "How many members are there in a Nascar pit crew?"

"Eight, I think," he answered.

Carol flipped the card over. "Right you are." The card actually said seven.

Now the game was a little more even, she wouldn't feel as bad when she beat him later. Next, he landed on roll again and then made his way to a history pie piece square.

This time, Carol read the question that was actually on the card. It was about some Confederate general she'd never heard of, but he knew the answer. He just kept rolling lucky numbers and ended up on an arts and literature triangle next.

Carol pulled out the card and shook her head. "I can't believe you got this question." It sounded like a question she would have made up a moment ago back when she was trying to help him not lose too badly, but it was actually on the card: "Who is Mr. Darcy's aunt in Jane Austin's _Pride and Prejudice_?"

"Lady Catherine!" Daryl pumped his fist. "Oh yeah." He dug his fingers in the bag of pie pieces. "Come to daddy." He pulled out a brown triangle and worked it into his playing piece.

Carol smiled to see him getting into the game, and she had a sudden vision of what he might have been like as a little kid, before the world and his father's abuse had weighed him down.

He missed his next question about the capital of some African country, and Carol finally got another turn. She managed to earn a triangle form a sports and leisure question about quilting. When it was Daryl's turn again, he landed on yet another roll again.

"Are you cheating? Are those dice loaded?" she asked.

"Nah. I'm just that good." He managed to move his way to his last required triangle, Geography.

Carol read, "What is the capital of Australia?"

"Canberra."

"I didn't know that," Carol admitted. "I assumed it was Sydney."

Daryl worked his triangle into his pie. "Henry mentioned it once. So I win, right?"

"No! Not yet! You have to get to the middle and answer a question before you can win. And I get to pick the category."

"I think yer makin' that up," he said.

"No, it's an official rule."

"A'right." He blew on the dice and then rolled them. Sure enough...he clacked his piece against the board straight into the center.

"You should have been born in Vegas," she muttered.

"So what's my game winin' question?"

Carol hadn't wanted him to lose _badly_ , but she didn't want him to _win_ either. She was a bit competitive when it came to board games. She tried to guess which would be the hardest category for him, and settled on Arts and Literature. No way he was going to get another _Pride and Prejudice_ question.

"Who wrote Jane Eyre?" she read.

"Charlotte Bronte."

Carol flipped over the card, because she couldn't remember which Bronte it was, and he was right. "Have you read that book?" she asked skeptically. Given that he'd dropped out of high school at 15, and it wasn't really the kind of book a rugged boy would read on his own, she was skeptical.

"Nah. Read the back of the DVD case. It's one of the movies I picked up for ya."

"No fair!" Carol slapped the trivia card down on the board.

Daryl snorted.

She began picking up the pieces.

"What do I get for winnin'?"

She smiled. "What do you _want_?"

By the way he was looking at her, chewing on his bottom lip, his eyes flitting quickly down her figure and then up, for a brief moment, she thought he might actually say he wanted to take her to bed. But of course he didn't. "Want ya to go to this dumb ass orchestra concert with me tomorrow night. Savannah's in it. Guess I gotta watch. Need ya to keep me awake."

"I can manage that. I'll just poke you when you nod off."

Daryl looked down shyly at the table. "So...uh...it's a date?"

Carol smiled. "Yeah. It's a date."

Daryl nodded and stood. He didn't look directly at her. "Guess I better be hittin' the hay."

"It's not that late." Carol didn't want _their time_ to end. Daryl was already gone hunting in the morning when she woke up. She didn't see him until the banquet, and then only briefly, when she could manage to get out of the kitchen. After that, she had to oversee clean-up and leftover storage. But after three nights, she had already come to regard the two to three hours before bed as _their time_.

"Gotta leave at sunrise."

"Fair enough." She put the lid on the game.

"'Nite." He grabbed the quiver of arrows he'd set on the floor and retreated toward his bedroom.

As she watched him go, a quiet longing wormed its way into her heart. "Daryl?" she said.

He stopped just outside the red curtain and turned to face her "Mhmhm?"

As an act of self-preservation, she had once flipped the switch on all of her emotions, but now that she was allowing herself to feel again, her feelings for him had returned with a vengeance. She could no longer pretend to herself that she wanted nothing more than friendship.

"I love..." She wanted to say, _I love you. You know that, don't you? That I love you?_ But she couldn't. Carol didn't want to risk losing everything they'd regained these past three nights. Daryl was slowly growing more comfortable with her. She didn't want to scare him away. "...pork barbecue. I'd love it if you caught a wild boar tomorrow."

"See what I can do," he promised, and then he slipped behind the curtain.


	30. Chapter 30

Savannah squeezed in between Daryl and Jakob in the backseat of the pick-up. It was tight. Al, who always sat in the front passenger's seat because his legs were so long, grinned at her in the rear view mirror, his bright white teeth flashing. "Happy to have you join us today."

"Well, there's no supply run scheduled today, and Daryl wants me to learn to hunt."

"I like the pink," Al said. "It is quite pretty and feminine.

Savannah had let her hair return to its natural blonde color, but had died a single strip of it neon pink. "It's actually meant to be ironic."

"I'll teach you to spear frogs," Al said, "If you like."

"Teachin' her the bow," Daryl said.

"Is this your first time hunting?" Al asked, still smiling at her in the rear view mirror.

"No," Savannah answered. "I went with Mer - my dad a couple times."

"What is the biggest game animal you ever - "

"- What the hell is this?" Daryl interrupted Al. "Twenty questions?"

Al's smile faded. He looked out the passenger's window. Savannah rolled her eyes at Daryl.

When they got to the royal forest, they found two sets of tracks – boar and deer.

"Goin' after the boar," Daryl insisted.

"Those tracks have always run cold," Henry said. "You know that."

"Goin' after the boar," Daryl repeated.

"Well, then you'll miss out on my scintillating company," Henry said, "because I'm following the deer tracks." He left with Jakob and Al to head north, while Savannah and Daryl went south.

"If ya need me to smack Al 'round for ya, I will," Daryl told her.

"He's harmless," she said. "He just really needs a girlfriend something awful."

"He's too old for ya."

"He's not _that_ old. He's thirty."

"Ya said no older than twenty-five." Daryl paused in a clearing. "And what 'bout Carl?"

Savannah stopped beside him. "What about him?"

"Well, think he's sweet on ya."

"Carl's just a boy."

"Then why ya been..." Daryl trailed off.

"Been what?"

"Teachin' him to ride. Being all nice to 'em at the banquets."

"Fuck that noise!" Savannah said. "Are you saying a girl can't be nice to a guy without leading him on? Besides, I haven't even been nice to him."

"Nice for _you_."

Savannah shrugged. "I like Carl, but he's just not… _man_ enough for me."

"And Al is?"

She laughed. "No. Al's kind of...goofy. And thin. Too thin for me. And, you're right, he's too old for me. I guess I'm just going to have to go scouting for a ripped, twenty-two year old one of these days."

Daryl turned the crossbow in his hands. "Merle ever show ya how to use one of these?"

She nodded and took the crossbow he handed her. "How come you never came with him to visit me?"

"Didn't see why either of ya'd want me 'round. I weren't nothin' to ya. Just be a third wheel."

"And maybe you didn't want to be with him because he was always scoring meth from a guy in my trailer park?"

"Didn't know that," he said, even though he _had_ known it.

"Sometimes wonder if that's the only reason he ever came to visit me."

"It weren't," Daryl insisted. "Now show me yer stance."

He had her do a bit of target practice against a tree, and then he pointed out a squirrel. Savannah didn't come anywhere near hitting the animal, and she let out a frustrated growl and stomped her booted foot against the earth.

"Ya ain't gonna get nothin' on yer first try. Calm down."

"You know, hunting may not be my calling."

"Yer a Dixon." Even if she did call herself Pettigrew after her mama. "It's in yer blood."

"What if it's not?" she asked, peering at him from beneath the pink edge of her blonde bangs.

"Ya made one shot! What the hell is wrong with ya? Ya gonna give up after one shot? What are ya, a - " He stopped suddenly. Shit. He was starting to sound like his father. He lowered his head and sighed. "Listen, Savannah..." He looked back up at her. "Asked ya to come out here with me 'cause I think you might really like it. Just give it one day. One day huntin' with me. If'n ya don't like it, fine. It ain't yer thing."

"Fine? Really? You won't be disappointed in me if it's not my _thing_?"

"Nah. I won't. If it ain't...maybe you can show me what yer thing is."

"I'm a supply runner. And I'm damn good at it. I'm also pretty good at playing the flute, but you probably think concerts are stupid waste of time."

Concerts _did_ seem like a waste of time to him, when there was so much practical work to be done, but he didn't say that. "Lookin' forward to hearin' ya tonight."

"Do you even know what we're playing?"

"Ummm..." Someone had mentioned it at the banquet last night. "Bach?"

"Beethoven."

"Yeah. I'll be there. Lookin' forward to it."

Savannah smiled indulgently. "It's nice that you try." She readied the crossbow, aimed for another squirrel, and hit it.

"That's what I'm talkin' 'bout!"

"Okay," Savannah admitted. "That felt pretty good."

The morning wore on, and Savannah improved. She might not be a complete natural at it, but she'd had fun. The only problem was, with all the time he'd spent teaching her, Daryl hadn't had time to find the boar. They returned to the pick-up with nothing but a few squirrels. He felt a little empty handed when there were three doves and a dozen frogs in the cooler, not to mention the deer outside it.

Henry raised an eyebrow when Daryl tossed the lone squirrels on top of the doves.

"Do better tomorrow," Daryl insisted.

"We do not hunt on Sundays," Al told him.

"Why not?"

"It's our day off," Henry replied. "We get to sleep in for once. No banquet, but Carol prepares a sort of brunch buffet of leftovers that opens at eleven. The tournaments are in the afternoon, and then dinner's on your own."

"Sometimes I think the Kingdom is like church camp," Savannah said.

"Ya went to church camp?" Daryl asked.

"Sure. Great way for my mom to get rid of me for half the summer when I was little."

Daryl's parents hadn't needed to send him to camp to get rid of him. In the summers, he left the cabin at daybreak and came back at night fall, and no one was ever looking for him.

[*]

Carol looked up from the counter where she'd been chopping vegetables as Henry and Daryl hefted the deer onto the butcher's table. "Sorry," Daryl said. "Couldn't find the boar."

"That's a big deer," she replied. "I'll call the butcher and get some seasoning ready."

"Goin' out through another door," Daryl said. "Don't want to go past them women who was laughin' at me."

Henry chuckled. "They weren't laughing _at_ you."

"They's snickerin' at me," Daryl insisted.

"Remarkable," Henry said. He looked at Carol, who had already started mixing the spices she would use to season the deer, and said, "Maybe Carol can explain it to you."

"Explain what?" Daryl asked.

"I wasn't there," Carol said, though she could guess what had happened. She'd heard the giggles and whispers herself, around the Kingdom, about the new huntsman: _Can you believe he got us a deer his very first day? ... Did you check out those arms? ... So sullen ... But he's kind of sexy... Kind of? ... He's one of those hot bad boy types ... Did you see him on that motorcycle.? ..Does he have a woman?_

They weren't laughing _at_ you," Henry told him. "They were laughing _with_ each other over how attractive they find you."

"What?"

Henry shook his head, said his farewells, and left.

"He's right," Carol told Daryl when Henry was gone. "You could probably have your pick."

Carol wanted him to say he didn't want any of those women, that he wanted her, but he didn't say anything at all. He picked up a small piece of raw garlic she had chopped and crunched it down.

"You planning to ward off vampires?" She smiled teasingly. "Or are you just doing that to keep me from kissing you after our hot date tonight?"

He ducked his head. "Stop."

[*]

Daryl sat up from the bench. Sasha handed him a towel. He wiped the sweat from his brow. They'd gotten to the lifting later today, because the hunt had gone on longer than usual. The banquet was also earlier tonight, to give the kitchen help time to get ready before the concert, so he'd probably get showered and dressed for it right after lifting.

Sasha handed him a water bottle, and he guzzled it down before running the back of his hand across his lips. "Who's idea was it to start up the Council?" he asked. "Yours? Rick's?"

"Carol's," Sasha said. "She came to me first, and then we gathered the others."

"Huh." Daryl stood and tossed the towel in the laundry basket.

"Carol's _always_ been on top of things, you know," Sasha said. "She's a smart cookie."

Sasha hadn't known Carol before the prison, hadn't known how dependent she'd once been. "Yeah, she is. Just thought she'd bought into this place."

"She likes it here," Sasha said, "for what it can offer her, for what she can be here. But she's still cautious. She's still Carol. And you know Carol. Better than anyone."

"Mhm." Daryl refilled his water bottle from the fountain. It was amazing they still had clean water. He knew the Kingdom had three "royal water bearers" and four "court power engineers," but he didn't understand what they did, exactly, to keep it coming. He'd often see them leaving the Kingdom when he returned from the hunt, along with three or four knights who probably stood guard and provided protection while they maintained whatever it was they were maintaining. "Ya suggest Ezekiel keep the cars outside the gates yet? So we ain't got to move the buses 'round to get in and out?"

Sasha crossed her arms and leaned against the wall near him. "He said he's thinking about it."

"Wanna bet he says no? Because that'd make it too easy for people to leave?"

"This isn't East Germany, Daryl. People can leave. The rule of three, outside those gates, is for our own protection. And knowing who is in and out at any time is so we can send search parties if something happens."

"Ya sure there ain't a little element of control in there?"

She glanced back at the door and then turned her eyes to him again. "The Kingdom had a spy for the Saviors, a man who was meeting up with them and giving them information. Ezekiel _does_ keep track of who is coming in and out when, in case a suspicious pattern ever emerges. We don't have any enemies at the moment, but the system is in place for that reason, too. I get why you don't like it. I get why you think it's controlling. But I also get why he does it. We live in dangerous times."

Daryl screwed the cap back on his water bottle. "Reckon I better get cleaned up."

Sasha pushed off the wall. "I don't guess you'll be going to the concert?"

"Got to. Savannah's playin'." He shrugged. "That and...well...Carol wants to go."

Sasha smiled. "You going to bring her flowers when you pick her up?"

"Ain't gonna pick her up. We live together." He headed toward the weight room door, wishing he _had_ plucked some wildflowers from the royal forest. She sure had seemed to like that Cherokee rose he'd once brought her, after all. Of course, he'd only been thinking of the story when he plucked that thing; thinking of Merle, who'd he thought was dead at the time; thinking of Sophia, whom he prayed wasn't dead. And yeah, maybe he'd been thinking of Carol, too...thinking, maybe, that solitary flower, and the maternal love it symbolized, might make her feel less hopeless and alone.

[*]

Having showered and dressed, Daryl now stood at a locker room sink and brushed his teeth vigorously.

Henry took the sink beside him, set his shaving kit on the metal shelf above, and said, "Change your mind about the concert tonight? Savannah seemed to think you were going."

Daryl bent down, put his mouth right under the faucet, and got a mouthful of water. He swished and spit. "Yeah."

"You're taking Carol?" Henry sprayed shaving cream into his hand and lathered his face.

Daryl rinsed his toothbrush and rapped it against the side of the sink to dry it. "Mhmh. Well…we's both goin'."

Henry chuckled. "Well if you want to borrow a blazer, I've got one. It'd go well with that shirt." He nodded to the solid black, long-sleeve button-down shirt Daryl was wearing.

"I ain't wearin' no damn blazer."

Henry smirked and opened his straight razor. "Carol would like it."

Daryl was getting tired of the huntsmen ribbing him about Carol. "How the hell ya know what Carol would like?"

"I don't." Henry shaved his chin. "I don't have any idea what Carol likes." He rinsed his razor. "But, Jesus Christ, Daryl! Someone needs to tell you this."

"Tell me what?"

Henry sighed and shaved his left cheek. "At first, I assumed you and Carol were together because you had moved in together, but it's become clear that you're just roommates."

"Told ya that. Told ya we was just roomin'."

"It's not just become clear to _me_." He shaved his right cheek, rinsed his razor, and tapped it against the sink.

"What's that mean?"

Henry dried his face. "Carol's a lovely woman. She's pretty, she's kind, and she's a talented chef." He tossed his towel, like a basketball, into the laundry bin, returned his razor and shaving cream to his kit, and zipped it up. "If you don't make a move on her soon, I guarantee you some other man will." Henry grabbed his shaving kit and shook his head as he left the locker room.


	31. Chapter 31

Carol promised to meet Daryl back at the apartment in time for the concert. She lingered and sipped a second cup of coffee as the banquet hall cleared out. Everyone but Michonne, Judith, and Carl had left their table.

Judith toddled over to Michonne and landed against her legs. "Time to get you bathed, Miss Messy," Michonne told the little girl.

"I'll take her, if you want to go get ready for the concert." Carl scooped up his baby sister.

"You really don't mind?" Michonne asked.

"I wanted to take Judith for a little walk anyway." Carl smiled. "She's kind of chick magnet."

Michonne chuckled. "Any _particular_ chick you're trying to attract?"

Carl shrugged. "Maybe."

"Daryl's niece, perhaps?" Michonne teased.

"God no," Carl replied. "That girl scares me. And she almost killed me when we were riding." He wrenched his nose free from Judith's grasping fingers and headed out.

Michonne turned her attention to Carol. "So how's the Odd Couple doing?"

"What?" Carol asked.

"You rooming with Daryl. How's that going?"

"Except for having to trip over his boots, clean up his muddy prints in the foyer, and ignore his bare feet on the coffee table...Daryl's actually pretty easy to live with."

"Still in separate bedrooms?"

"Stop it!" Carol hissed, and looked left and right. There was no one within hearing distance, though some people were still milling around.

Michonne chuckled. "Inquiring minds want to know." She tilted her head at Carol and studied her seriously. "You know, a lot of people in the Kingdom assume you two are a couple now. If you had any interest in any of these men..." She glanced around the cafeteria at the lingerers. "You can forget about that now. None of them is going to want to cross Daryl."

"I don't have an interest in any of these men."

"Hmmm. Interesting. Just Daryl then?"

Carol blushed. "It's complicated."

"What's complicated about it?"

"Right now...we're just...we've both been through a lot. We've just repaired our friendship, and we're becoming better friends."

Michonne dug into the pocket of her pants and set a rectangular object on the table.

"What's that for?" Carol asked.

"I found it in a teacher's drawer, with the charger. It's an iPhone."

"A what?" Carol asked.

"An iPhone. They came out before the Turn. Obviously the phone part doesn't work, but I use it to listen to music and play games. There's a fun game on there. Thought maybe you might want to play it with Daryl after the concert."

"What game?" Carol asked. .

"Truth or Dare."

"We've actually played that before, believe it or not." The prison seemed like a lifetime ago.

Michonne flashed her a smile. "Well, then, why don't you take the phone? I don't need it tonight."

Carol thought it was a strange offer, but she liked the idea of playing a game with Daryl after the concert, especially one that had once gotten him to open up a little.

[*]

Daryl waited nervously in the living room as Carol got changed for the concert. He tapped the tail of an arrow against his lips and stared at the red curtain that led to her bedroom. When she emerged from between its folds, his arrow froze in midair, not quite touching his lips.

She was wearing a solid red dress that accentuated every feminine curve of her body. It wasn't her first time wearing something pretty in the Kingdom, but he'd never seen her in anything quite like it before. He'd known she was pretty, but….

"Damn," he muttered.

Carol smiled. "You ready?"

He couldn't take his eyes off her. "Damn," he said again.

[*]

Daryl was painfully aware of the glances men threw Carol's way as they walked to and entered the theater. He'd never noticed men looking at her before. Was it the dress, or did they always look at her like that? It seemed they were looking at him, too, with puzzled expressions, as though wondering what the hell she would be doing with _him_. Daryl was irritated and embarrassed and half wished he'd borrowed that blazer from Henry after all.

When they took their seats in the third to last row, the musicians were tuning their instruments.

"Back of the theater, huh?" Carol teased. "Does that mean you want to make out?"

"Don't like bein' up close," he mumbled, and then thought maybe he should have called her bluff and just said _yes_. But people didn't make out at orchestra concerts, did they? And he sure as hell wasn't going to make out in front of people. Or behind them for that matter.

The audience continued to file in for the next few minutes. About 150 people filled the theater chairs, and there were at least thirty musicians on the stage. The Kingdom's other forty or so subjects, Daryl supposed, were either working or had somehow avoided being roped into attending.

King Ezekiel sat in the center of the third row, with his Privy Council filling the chairs evenly on either side of him. The two rows before him remained completely empty. Daryl watched as Ezekiel leaned his head toward Sasha and whispered something that made her smile. The smile seemed genuine, and that bothered Daryl, because if Sasha started to like Ezekiel, then her loyalties might be divided. She might start championing his ideas instead of theirs.

"I told you Tobin would find someone quickly." Carol nodded several rows down to where Tobin sat with his arm around that carpenter Daryl had talked to his first full day in the Kingdom, Shannon.

"Think that's my doin'," he said.

"What?" she asked.

"Think I fixed 'em up."

Carol snorted and shook her head. "Yeah, right."

Savannah, a little later to the stage than the rest of musicians, picked up her flute and then waved to Daryl in the back of the theater. He gave her a thumbs up, and felt like an idiot doing it, but he figured he was supposed to respond somehow. Carol chuckled beside him.

"What? Had to give her somethin'."

"I think it's cute, the way you've taken to the whole uncle role."

Daryl was surprised to see Gloria take hold of the conductor stick thingy. He didn't know what it was called. "Henry's wife's conductin'?"

"She used to be a music teacher," Carol said. "At this very high school."

When the concert started, Daryl reached over and took Carol's hand. He figured he should do that, since this was supposed to be a date. He wasn't sure, though, because he'd never actually been on a date. But she laced her fingers through his, so he supposed that was the right thing to have done.

Daryl didn't know if the musicians were any good. He didn't know what an orchestra was supposed to sound like. It sounded fine to him. He didn't dislike the music. He thought it would sound nice enough if it was coming out of a radio while he was sitting on the couch cleaning his guns or tightening the strings on his crossbow. But here, in these theater seats, he was bored. Really bored. And the concert just seemed to go on and on and on. The only thing keeping him awake was Carol's soft, warm hand in his, and the fact that he was able to sneak occasional glances at her to admire the way that dress clung to her body.

She caught him looking once and smiled. Daryl turned his eyes back to the stage and stared fiercely ahead.

[*]

Carol kicked off her shoes and slid down on the couch when they got back to the apartment. Daryl sat beside her. "How'd you like it?" she asked, knowing full well he'd almost fallen asleep twice.

"Uh…think my niece done good."

"You were bored out of your mind."

"A little," he admitted.

"Honestly? So was I. I'd rather listen to country music." She reached over and plucked up the iPhone she'd left on the end table earlier that evening. "You up for playing a game tonight?" she asked.

"What game?"

"This phone has some games. There's a truth or dare one on here I thought we could play."

"On a phone? How's that work?" he asked.

"We enter our names, and our genders for some reason, and then I think you just take turns, and the phone gives you a truth or dare."

Daryl made a kind of growling-sigh sound, but he said, "A'right. Give it a go I guess."

She typed in their names, turned the phone toward him, and said, "You're up first. You're supposed to tap the screen to start."

He did, smacking the screen hard with his forefinger.

"You don't have to _hit_ it," Carol clarified.

The phone made the sound of a wheel spinning, and the screen flashed different colors, until it stopped and a word appeared: "Truth."

"I think you have to touch the screen again."

He did. The screen flashed a question: "Daryl," he read, "what's yer favorite part of Carol's body?" He flushed. "Um…yer smile."

"A smile's not really a body part, but I'll take it."

She turned the phone to herself and tapped it. "Huh. I got the same question." She thought for a moment. "Your heart."

"Ya ain't never even seen my heart."

Carol chuckled. "Fine. Your arms."

"Why my arms?"

"Because I'm shallow, I guess." Was he really unaware of how sexy his arms were? He was certainly unaware of how often she'd imagined them wrapped around her, while she ran her fingertips over them, tracing every muscle.

When Carol turned the phone to him, he tapped it and received another truth. "These are weird questions," he said.

Carol peered at the screen, which read, _Daryl, what's your favorite sound that Carol makes?_ He was right. These were weird questions.

"Guess when ya giggle."

"Giggle?" she asked. "I don't _giggle_."

"Do too. I like it."

She turned the phone to herself. The screen flashed until the word DARE appeared. "Finally, a dare." She clicked it again. _Carol,_ the screen read _, french kiss Daryl while stroking his cock for 90 seconds._

Carol flushed and hit the little X in the right hand corner to exit out of the game. _Are you sure you want to quit?_ It asked. She clicked yes. _Are you sure, Carol?_ It asked again, and she clicked yes again and finally it returned to the main screen of the game.

"What was the dare?" Daryl tried to look at the phone in her hands.

"I don't think this game is what I thought it was."

"Whatcha mean?"

Relieved that he apparently hadn't seen the question, Carol could feel the heat in her cheeks begin to subside. She clicked on the button marked _About This Game_ , which she hadn't bothered to read before, and scrolled through the introduction. " _Michonne_ ," she muttered.

"What?" he asked.

"It's not the normal version the game," she said. "It says it's meant to be played by friends with benefits."

"Friends with... _benefits_?" he asked. "What? Like...food stamps?"

Carol laughed. "No. Apparently it's this thing the college kids were starting to do, back when there still were college kids. I overheard Ed's nephew talking about it to him once. He said he had a friend, and they'd exchange...sexual benefits."

"So she was his girlfriend?"

"Not a girlfriend, just a friend."

Daryl sounded highly confused. "A friend he had sex with?"

"Yes," she said. "Friends with benefits."

"That don't make no goddamn sense. If'n he was friends with the girl, and he was havin' sex with her, then she was his _girlfriend."_

"Well, except she wasn't really. They weren't dating."

"But they's friends. So they's hangin' out?"

"Yes," Carol answered.

"And havin' sex?"

"Yes."

"If yer hangin' out with someone, and yer havin' sex with her...how's she not yer girlfriend?"

"Well, I guess..." She hadn't really fully understood Ed's nephew's explanation. "It's not a committed romantic relationship."

"Okay, well, then she's _one_ of yer girlfriends." Daryl grunted and shook his head slightly. "Dumb ass college kids. Think they're so smart. Got to come up with a name for somethin' already got a name."

Carol laughed. "The point is, I think, that there's no pressure. It's a friend helping out a friend. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. That kind of thing. Casual sex."

"How's that even possible?" he asked. "Casual sex's casual 'cause ya don't hardly know her and probably ain't never gonna see her again. Cain't have casual sex with a _friend_."

"Well, I guess that's why they call it friends with benefits instead of casual sex."

"Don't make no goddamn sense at all!"

Carol thought about it, trying to remember what Ed's nephew had argued the point of it all was. She set the phone down on her knee, screen down, and trailed her fingertip over the neon green case. She couldn't remember what Ed's nephew had said, precisely, but she began to concoct her own theory.

"I guess maybe for some people it's easier to experiment with a friend," she said. "Especially, you know, if you're a virgin." Daryl flushed. She hadn't brought that up, not once, since the prison mess hall. "Or a virgin about _some_ things," she hastened. "Like me." Despite her long marriage to Ed, Carol sometimes _felt_ like a virgin, because the sex had always been quick and routine and slightly uncomfortable, not at all what she'd imagined it would be when they got married. "It's probably easier to experiment with someone you know cares about you." Carol studied the phone fiercely, afraid to look at him, but having gone too far to retreat now. "Someone who's going to keep being your friend no matter how the sex turns out." Finally, she looked up at him. "Maybe we should try it?"

"You and me?" Carol couldn't read the expression in his eyes - a little bit of shock, maybe, and some embarrassment, mixed with desire. "Be...uh...friends with _benefits?_ "

It took some courage, but she continued to hold his eyes. "If you want."

He chewed on his cuticle and lowered his eyes. Finally, muttering around his thumb, he said, "I cain't."

"Okay," Carol said, her voice quivering a little. She set the phone on the coffee table. "Forget I mentioned it." She was mortified. She'd thrown the dice – like Michonne had apparently thought she would - and they'd come up with a losing number. Now she was going to have to live with that embarrassment for days, weeks, maybe months to come. "Goodnight."

She stood and was about to run to her bedroom when he reached out and grabbed her hand. "Wait." Daryl tugged her back down on the couch. Carol almost fell in his lap, but ended up sitting beside him, their legs touching lightly. Certain that her cheeks were as red as beets, she couldn't turn to face him.

"I cain't do that with ya and then go on like nothin' happened if it don't work out. I cain't be casual 'bout it. I cain't 'cause..." She peered at him out of the corner of her eye and saw that he was chewing on his cuticle again. His thumb fell from his mouth. "Carol, I love ya."


	32. Chapter 32

"I love ya," Daryl repeated. "And I have for...fuck...I don't know how long."

Carol never imagined Daryl would say that, let alone say it first. "I love you, too," she told him, almost crying the words. She turned to him and saw the surprise and joy in his eyes.

"Ya do?"

"Of course I do." She leaned in, and Daryl met her half way.

Carol had once read that a couple's first kiss was the pinnacle, that all the kisses to follow were a mere shadow of that kiss, an attempt to recapture that first magical moment. But that couldn't be true, because this kiss _now_ , their _second_ kiss - was the most powerful kiss she had ever experienced in her life. As tender and beautiful as that first kiss was, it couldn't hold a candle to the feel of Daryl's tongue in her mouth now, or his warm, calloused hand pressed possessively against her cheek. The sound of their breathing in the prison mess hall couldn't rival their hungry panting now, as he nibbled her bottom lip, freed it, and then reclaimed her mouth with his, and their tongues once again thrashed together.

Daryl pulled away, breathing heavily. His hand slid from her cheek to her shoulder.

She didn't want things to stop here, with only a kiss. Not this time. "Maybe we _should_ play that game," she suggested, nodding to the phone on the coffee table.

"Don't need that game, Carol," he told her. "We don't need to play no more games. Just tell me what ya want me to do, and I'll do it."

A little shiver ran through Carol's spine. She made the bold move of saying precisely what she wanted. "I want you to take me to bed."

"Shit!" Daryl exclaimed, which was definitely not the reaction she had been expecting. But then he followed with, "Threw out that condom when I thought ya was with Tobin."

"So it was for me all along?"

"No!" He flushed. "I mean...dunno. I guess I thought...someday...maybe."

She smiled. "It probably would have been expired by now anyway."

"Could borrow one," he said, "maybe, from Henry."

"I'd rather not announce to Henry that we're about to have sex."

"Rick then?"

She laughed at Daryl's eagerness. "I'd rather not announce it to Rick either."

"But...uh...we can at least do... _somethin'.._.right?"

She put him out of his misery. "We don't need a condom, Daryl. I know I don't have any STDs, and I'm pretty sure you _can't_. I had my tubes tied after Sophia was born. I didn't want to bring another child into that marriage." She stood and held out her hand to him.

He slid his hand in hers and rose.

"Turn off the overhead light, would you?" she asked.

She couldn't help but smile at the way Daryl lunged across the room and hit the switch.

[*]

The curtain billowed shut behind Daryl. The bedroom was dark except for the moonlight. Carol clicked on the lamp on her nightstand and turned to face him. The light bathed her figure. She was so beautiful it made him ache just to look at her. Daryl swayed a little on his feet. All the boldness he'd felt when he was kissing her drained from him. "I don't want to disappoint ya. Ya know I ain't got no experience."

"I don't have much either," Carol reassured him. "You'd think I would after twenty years of marriage, but...half the time Ed couldn't manage to get it up, he drank so much. And when he did...it was always the same. Like a clockwork routine. I never even had an orgasm."

" _Never?_ "

"Not unless I was giving it to myself."

Daryl breathed in sharply as an image of Carol pleasuring herself flashed through his mind.

"I think the first step," she said, "is for you to come a little closer."

Biting down on is bottom lip, Daryl closed the space between them. He put a hand on her hip and bent his head to kiss her gently. She deepened the kiss and began to work the buttons of his shirt loose, one by one. When she began pushing it off his shoulders, he stopped kissing her and pulled back to rid himself of it, though his white t-shirt still clung to his chest beneath.

He tried to think what his next move should be, and wondered if he looked like an idiot, standing still and trying to catch his breath.

Carol smiled and turned around. "You want to unzip me?"

"Yeah." His fingers trembled as he grasped the clasp of the zipper and slowly pulled it down to the small of her back, revealing her smooth, pale skin. Carol slid the dress off her shoulders, worked it over her hips, and stepped out of it. A pair of silky black panties clung to her firm ass, and Daryl could feel himself stirring. She turned, and his eyes fell to the lacy black bra cupping her pert breasts. "Damn." He was so enamored of her breasts, that it was a moment before he noticed the marks on her skin. He gently traced a fingertip over a spot just above her cleavage, where a cigarette burn etched her flesh, and then another closer to her shoulder, and another...

"It's ugly, I know," she said. "My skin. It's -

"- Ain't yer ugliness. It's his." Daryl pulled his t-shirt over his head and turned his back to her, to show her the scars he'd once tried to hide when she brought him dinner in bed at the farm. He closed his eyes when her soft lips touched down on the worst and deepest one.

Carol wrapped her arms around him from behind, her breasts pressed to his back, and kissed a lash on his shoulder blade. He turned in her arms and kissed her lips, hungrily. When her lower body pressed against his, he hissed. He was already completely hard. "Sorry," he muttered.

She laughed lightly. "Don't be sorry. I'd be upset if it _didn't_ happen."

"Just...I want ya so damn bad. 'Fraid I ain't gonna last long."

"I don't expect you to the first time, Daryl. There'll be lots of other times."

"There will?"

She smiled. "Well, we're living together. I think we'll find the opportunity."

He pressed his forehead to hers. "Tell me what ya want me to do to ya."

"I want you to finish undressing me," she said. "Slowly."

He slid a finger underneath her bra strap and began to ease it down.

[*]

Carol had never felt so powerful or so intensely aroused. Ed have never asked her what she wanted, and when she'd tried to tell him, he'd always said _Shhh!,_ as though her wants and desires were nothing more than annoyances. But Daryl did everything she asked him to.

When they were both completely naked in the bed, and Carol was wet and ready and needy, she took him in her hand and guided him inside.

"Oh sweet Jesus," he moaned.

"Don't move just yet," she whispered.

He groaned. "Got to."

"Give me a second to adjust."

"Jesus. Oh God. Oh, Carol." He nipped at her neck and breathed hard in her ear. "Got to."

"Okay now."

His first thrust sent such a shock of pleasure shooting through her that she was immediately desperate for more. She whimpered and dug her nails into his back. But with his second thrust, he came suddenly, hotly filling her and leaving her aching.

Daryl groaned against her neck, slid off of her, and muttered, "Sorry. I suck at this. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she whispered.

"Ain't okay. Ya deserve someone who knows what the fuck he's doin'."

She forced all her shyness aside. "Touch me," she demanded. Carol took his hand and slid it between her legs. "Make me cum." She placed her fingers over his and guided him for a moment, letting go when he'd found a rhythm that made her whimper, but a moment later, she was pleading, "a little slower," then, "faster," then "gentle," then "harder!" His touch aroused her, but it was his willingness to please her that made her heady. He chased her unpredictable pleasure, giving her whatever she needed, whatever she asked, until she was crying his name.

[*]

Daryl didn't think a woman could cum that hard just from being touched. Carol hadn't just said his name - she'd screamed it while she bucked around his hand. She bit down on his shoulder to drown the rest of her cry. She was still trembling when she curled up against his side, her cheek on his chest, her breath falling warmly against his skin.

Maybe he didn't completely suck at this sex thing after all. "Ya a'right?" he asked.

She giggled against his chest and then kissed it. "I'm good."

"Ya like that?"

"I liked that."

He pulled the sheet on top of them and wrapped his arms around her. He settled his chin on her head and enjoyed the feel of her skin against his. "Yer so damn soft."

"You're warm. And you smell like fall leaves."

"Sorry."

"No. It's good," she told him. "It's one of my favorite smells."

"I sleep here, right?"

"Of course." Carol snuggled in a little more. "And then you make me breakfast in the morning."

Daryl closed his eyes. He couldn't think of a time he'd ever felt this relaxed, not even in his youth, when he'd lain out on the dock in the quiet moonlight listening to the crickets sing. It seemed like every tense muscle in his body had completely unraveled himself, and an immense sleepiness overtook him. Carol was saying something to him, but he had no idea what, because he was slipping into the most peaceful slumber of his life.


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N:** _Thanks for all the reviews!_

 **[*]**

Carol blinked awake through the wave of sunlight streaming in from the window. She couldn't believe how bold she'd been with Daryl last night. She never imagined herself capable of sexual aggression, but it was different with Daryl, with someone who _wanted_ to please her so badly. She only hoped they hadn't made a mistake to leap into bed. It certainly hadn't _felt_ like a mistake, but they'd spent so long dancing around each other that it seemed a more dramatic step than it might be for some other couple. Part of her was afraid, but she didn't need to be afraid, she reassured herself. Daryl loved her. That's what he'd said last night. He _loved_ her, and they didn't need anymore games.

She smiled and rolled over to settle against Daryl but found the space beside her empty. She patted the wrinkled, warm sheets, sat up, looked around, and felt a sudden sinking sensation.

He was going to run away from her.

He was going to pretend it had never happened.

He was going…

The red curtain fluttered. "Mornin'." Daryl walked backwards into the bedroom. When he turned, she saw he was carrying a single student desk like a tray. The coffee cups on top shook as he set it down by the bedside. "Weren't much in the pantry. Made instant coffee and instant grits. Used that hot shot thing to heat up the water. Think I used too much for the grits. Kind of runny. Sorry."

Feeling shy of her nakedness now that he was fully dressed, Carol held the sheet against her chest as she sat up. "I didn't think you'd take me seriously about making breakfast."

His face fell. "Ya don't want it?"

"No! No, I definitely want it. I just didn't expect…thank you. You didn't make any for yourself?" There were two cups of coffee, but only one bowl.

"Ate canned peaches already. Been up since daybreak. Guess I cain't turn off my clock."

"Could you hand me the bathrobe that's hanging on that rack over there?" She nodded to the free-standing coat rack she used as her wardrobe. The metal hanger clanged as he yanked the white, terrycloth robe off of it. He tossed it to her and watched her as she dropped the sheet to pull on the robe and tie it in front. Carol didn't understand how she could feel so self-conscious about her body now, after they'd both been naked and pressed together last night. He'd been _inside_ her for goodness sake. Why did she feel so shy? "You going to sit with me?" she asked.

He nodded, picked up one of the cups, and walked to the other side of the bed. He was wearing canvass work pants that were torn at the left knee and his tan muscle t-shirt, but his feet were bare. Daryl sat back against the headboard and peered at her as she took the first bite of her grits.

They were really runny, and she would have put some salt on them if she were making them, but she said, "Mhmmm. These are good" and took another bite.

She ate in silence while he slowly sipped his coffee without saying anything. How long was this awkwardness going to last? What should she say to shatter it? Carol set her empty bowl on the desk. "I had a good time last night."

"Yeah?" Daryl asked. "Me too."

"So what's on your agenda for today?" She picked up the coffee. He'd done a decent job with that, though it was a bit stronger than she usually drank it.

"My agenda?"

"What are you planning to do today?" Carol asked.

"Uh…well…ain't got to hunt. So guess maybe I'll shine my bike. Maybe work-out in the gym. Maybe see if Savannah wants to ride."

"Maybe make love with me again this evening?"

He smiled and ducked his head. "If'n ya want, sure."

"I think I _am_ going to want to." She glanced at the clock. "But right now, I need to get showered and dressed and start preparing the Sunday brunch buffet. I have to have it all out by 11. Are you going to the tournament this afternoon?"

"Dunno. Dunno what it's all 'bout."

"I've only seen two," she said. "It's like watching sports. I don't know what the line-up is today, but they usually have at least three contests. It varies - horse races, foot races, fencing matches, boxing, wrestling, martial arts…"

"And it's all the knights competin'?"

"Not all of them in every event, but most of them in some event or another. You going?"

"Ya want me to?" he asked.

"I don't really care. I'll probably still be cleaning up from the brunch buffet when it starts. Doing some prep for Monday's banquet. I might go watch the last hour."

Daryl looked down into his coffee cup. "Ain't really fond of crowds."

"The concert wasn't fun for you, was it?"

"Night ended well, though." He peered at her, moving his eyes without quite moving his head, and smiled.

Her eyes twinkled.

Daryl leaned over and kissed her. He tasted like coffee and sweet peaches. She took the coffee cup out of his hand and set both on the little desk and then turned back to kiss him again.

Somehow, her robe ended up untied. His clothes got bunched up somewhere under the sheets near the bottom of the bed. Daryl's hands roamed her body, sending jolts and thrills through her every nerve. His deep southern drawl tickled her ear: "Whatcha want, beautiful?"

She bit her bottom lip shyly. He pulled back when she didn't answer and looked in her eyes. "Wanna please ya. Just tell me. Ain't nothin' I won't do."

She nodded down.

"Don't know what that means."

"I want you to… _you know…_ down there. With your tongue." Ed had never wanted to do that for some reason. She'd heard plenty of men liked it, but Ed apparently wasn't one of those men. But every time she'd seen Daryl licking his own fingers, she couldn't help but suspect he might be a natural at it, if he put his mind to it.

"Oh." He kissed her neck. "Don't know what I'm doin'," he said, kissing her bare shoulder and then the spot just above the valley of her cleavage, "but I'll try my best." He flicked her nipple with his tongue and she gasped. As he kissed his way down, he murmured, "Tell me to stop if ya don't like it."

[*]

She kept crying, "Don't stop! Please don't stop!" like if she didn't tell him _not_ to, he might. Daryl didn't mind. It was thrilling to hear her voice thick with desire like that. Once he even stopped for a second just to hear her beg harder.

He didn't know exactly what he was doing, but he reckoned he was doing it right, because it felt like she was about to tug his hair straight out of his scalp. He ignored the pain and reveled in the sound of her pleasure. By the time she came, he wanted her even worse than he had last night. He crawled his way up and plunged into her while she was still trembling from her orgasm, groaning her name as he felt her spasm around him. He didn't last much longer this time - four strokes instead of two. He apologized when he shifted his weight off of her.

"It's okay," she said. "I already felt good anyway. And we'll get there. In the meantime...I don't mind taking turns."

"I'm terrible at this."

She slid down and rolled to face him, draping and arm over his waist. "You _aren't_ terrible at this. This is the best sex I ever had in my entire life."

He smiled faintly. "Reckon that ain't sayin' much."

"I love you, Daryl." She put her palm against his cheek. "I'm learning, too. And I want to learn with you."

A grin broke out over his face. "Guess we's gonna have to practice then. A _lot_." His eyes raked over her body, and he cupped a bare breast in his hand.

When he bent his head toward it, she pushed him playfully away. "Later. I really have to get to work. And I should probably go take a shower first."

He sighed, rolled away from her and lay on his back. She kissed his cheek before slipping out of bed and tying her robe. She could feel his eyes caressing her body as she closed it. She gathered clean clothes for after her shower and turned back to find his head settled comfortably on the pillow and his lids half dropped. "Are you going to take a nap now?"

"Dunno," he murmured sleepily, closing his lids all the way. "Maybe."

She chuckled as she slipped through the curtain.


	34. Chapter 34

_**A/N:**_ _Looks like reviews aren't showing up past chapter 31, but they will probably kick in later. Fanfic net has that kink sometimes. Hope you are all still enjoying._

[*]

It was 10:30 AM when Daryl woke up from his unplanned morning nap. He looked at the crumpled bed that had been neatly made when he followed Carol to her room last night and thought she'd want him to make it. He'd never actually made up a bed before, but he attempted to now. When he was done, it didn't look anything like it had yesterday. The blanket was still crumpled and wasn't on straight and the pillows seemed lined up wrong, but even when he tried again he couldn't get it to look right. He shook his head at his own half-ass work and left for the locker room, where he showered and dressed.

Daryl came out of the shower dressed but still toweling off his hair. He passed Henry near the lockers, who was buttoning up his shirt. "Enjoy your date with Carol last night?"

"Mhmhm."

"You like the music?"

He was supposed to compliment Henry, wasn't he? "Uh...yeah. Ya played that fiddle real good."

"Gloria's quite the conductor, isn't she?"

"Mhmhm."

"We went for a walk afterward," Henry said, "Gloria and I. Saw a real live shooting star. Did you and Carol see it?"

"Uh...nah. We was...busy."

Henry smirked. "Were you indeed?"

Daryl frowned. "I ain't said nothin'."

Henry's smirk turned into a grin. "Of course not. A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell. But I'm not a gentleman so I will say I had a good night, too." He closed his locker. "Headed to the buffet? Want to join me?"

Daryl tossed his towel in the laundry basket and followed him out.

Carol scolded them for being ten minutes early to the buffet. She was still setting up. Henry offered to help and Daryl cursed himself for not thinking of offering first. The food was an odd medley of leftovers. Daryl filled a plate and sat beside Henry at a long, empty table. "Where's yer wife?" he asked.

"She was just rolling out of bed as I was leaving to shower. The buffet is open until half past noon. Sundays are informal here. Some people go to church at 10:30. They usually roll in at 11:30."

Daryl supposed that wasn't so odd. Father Gabriel had started a church in Alexandria, too.

Savannah slid into an empty seat beside him. "I want to go on a supply run today," she told Daryl. "The court doctor says we have a real need for antibiotics. But all but one of our supply runners wants to go to the tournament, and I need a third. Want to join us?"

"Am I _allowed_ to?" Daryl asked with a bitter edge to his voice. "Since it ain't my _callin_ '?"

"I had to get permission from two members of the Privy Council. Sasha was easy. Damien was even easier because he has the hots for me. I always get a yes from him."

"How old's Damien?" Daryl asked.

"Way too old for Savannah," Henry said guardedly.

"He's never touched me," Savannah said. "He just likes to be teased with the possibility that he could."

"I don't like it," Henry said. "I know John wouldn't have liked it."

"Most men are dogs," Savannah told him. "Present company excepted. But damn if I'm not going to use that to my advantage when I can. Between Damien and your woman on the Council, Uncle Daryl, I think I can get pretty much anything I want now. So are you coming or not?"

"A'right. Been wantin' to ride."

[*]

Daryl mounted his motorcycle as Savannah secured the loose lid of her top box beside him. A little ways from them, a man named Connor, who was one of the regular supply runners, got into a large pick-up. They were beyond the buses, because the parking lot had been relocated some time last night to make departures easier. "Guess Ezekiel _does_ take suggestions," Daryl said.

"Sometimes," Savannah replied. "When he agrees with them. He's not unreasonable. He's just...weird."

"Weird _is_ unreasonable."

Savannah shrugged and slid on her motorcycle.

Daryl nodded to the pick-up. "Connor married?"

"No. Why? You looking for a boyfriend?"

Daryl eyed her coolly. "Ya told me _you_ was lookin'." Connor, who had a lean, muscular build, short black hair, and hazel eyes, appeared to be somewhere in his early twenties. "Just wondered what the problem with him was."

The engine of the pick-up roared.

Savannah started her bike. "Yeah, he's single. He used to be a quarterback for Catholic University."

Daryl revved his bike. "So what's wrong with 'em?"

"He was John's best friend." She spoke louder to be heard over the engines. "Out of respect for John, he won't even look at me twice. Besides, I think he likes having no-commitment sex with the cougars."

"The what?"

Savannah laughed. "My God, you are naive, Uncle Daryl." She smiled and roared off after the pick-up. Daryl followed.

They ended up at Howard University, where Connor impaled two walkers with the spiked grill of his pick-up and screeched to a stop in front of the medical school. The young man jumped out, slid his AR-10 onto his shoulder, and then peeled the walkers off his grill, leaving their bodies on the asphalt.

"We already cleared the medicines out of Georgetown and Catholic University," Connor told Daryl, "but we haven't checked here." He nodded over Daryl's shoulder.

Daryl whirled, shot an approaching walker, and then recovered his arrow.

As they headed toward the stairs, such a foul stench overtook Daryl that he almost couldn't breathe. He took his red bandanna out of his back pocket and covered his mouth and nose with it. As they got closer, he saw an enormous picked-over carcass on the other side of the stairs. "What the fuck?"

"It's an elephant," Connor told him, apparently unperturbed by the stench. "Have you heard the story? About the stampede King Ezekiel started at the National Zoo?"

Daryl nodded.

"We're always finding bodies of animals on our supply runs, picked over by lurchers. The animals killed a bunch of them, but fed a bunch of them, too. Henry and John came across a _live_ lion in the Royal Forest once. They brought it down, which was good, because it was killing all the game."

"Ya eat it?" Daryl asked.

"Of course we did."

"What it taste like?"

"Tastes like venison with the texture of a gator." Connor headed up the stairs.

They did find some more medicines, as well as some useful tools and equipment, in the school. They cleared out the place and loaded up the pick-up.

"Wanna hit the bookstore," Daryl said. A campus map inside the building had shown a Barnes & Noble.

"Why?" Connor asked. "Kingdom has a library."

"Ain't got what I want."

Connor looked at Savannah with a raised eyebrow. "Doesn't seem worth the risk," he said to her. "For books."

"Man up, Connie," she told him, and mounted her bike.

Just outside the Barnes and Noble, they cleared about half a dozen walkers. Daryl suggested Connor and Savannah check out the coffee shop for any non-perishable food while he went to get the books he needed.

"No," Connor said, "no man should go off alone. Rule of three."

"Won't take me but a second. Ain't much sign of walkers in this place. Don't want to waste anymore of yer time. Y'all get the food." Daryl walked off before Connor could protest further.

It took him awhile - and three arrows in two unexpected walkers - before he found the sex section. Quickly, while looking around to make sure his niece and Connor were nowhere in sight, he shoveled the _Joy of Sex_ , _How to Please a Woman_ , and two other books into his knapsnack and zipped it up tight. He then walked as quickly away from that section as he could.

[*]

Daryl peered into the nursery where Carl was letting the two preschool girls apply purple eye shadow not only to his eyelids but to half his forehead. The two preschool boys were busy driving matchbox cars all along the bookshelves. Little Ass Kicker, who was sitting on the floor, intensely preoccupied with trying to force a rectangle into a circular opening in a shape sorter, seemed to sense Daryl's presence and looked up. "Dee dee!" she screamed.

Carl's eyes fluttered open, and when he saw Daryl, he jumped up from the tiny chair he was sitting on and immediately started trying to rub the make-up off with a paper towel.

Daryl laughed and swung open the door of the nursery to scoop Little Ass Kicker up in his arms. She put the palm of one hand on his left cheek and a big, sloppy kiss on his right. "Teachin' cosmetology in here?" he asked.

"The girls just...I told them no, but..."

"Don't take it off!" the red-headed girl, who appeared to be three or four, exclaimed. "You're so bee-you-ti-full!"

Daryl walked over to the table and set Judith down on one of the little chairs, which she nearly slid off of before steadying herself. He grabbed a simple puzzle from the shelf behind himself and lay it before her. It had five pieces with vehicle shapes and large pegs for removing them. He plucked out the motorcycle, said, "Motorcycle goes vroom!" and handed it to her. Judith pounded the motorcycle against the table. Then she turned the puzzle upside down so that all of the pieces fell out with a clutter. "Voom!" she said.

"That's her sixth word," Carl observed. "What are you doing here?"

"Thought I'd stop by and check on Little Ass Kicker."

"Didn't see you at the tournament," Carl said, wiping off some more purple. Daryl tapped his forehead to indicate Carl still had some left, which he rubbed fiercely.

"Weren't interested."

"It was pretty awesome, actually," Carl said. "But now I have to work until the last one gets picked up at seven."

Daryl looked around. "What happened to the little baby?"

"With her mother. She's not working this evening."

"Dee dee!" Judith demanded, and slapped the little chair next to her with her palm. Daryl didn't dare sit down in the tiny chair. Instead, he moved it out of the way, sat on the floor next to Judith, and helped her put the puzzle back together.

"So how's Savannah doing?" Carl asked. "Are y'all planning to take me riding again sometime?"

"Not today."

"Well, no, not today. But _sometime_."

"Ya know yer a little young for her, right?" Daryl said.

"There's only three and a half years difference between us. But don't worry. I'm not at all interested in your niece. I like a _sweet_ girl."

Daryl almost said, "Like Enid?" who'd he'd thought of as pretty cynical, but he didn't. Carl had lost that girl before he'd even had her. Instead he said, "Good luck findin' one of those in this world. Takes a hard edge to survive here."

"Well, Carol's sweet, though," Carl reminded him. "And she's survived."

"Ain't but one Carol in this world," Daryl told him. He stood, kissed the top of Little Ass Kicker's head, and then made his way back to the apartment.


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N** : _I am getting your reviews by e-mail now even though they are still not showing up on the site, so please keep them coming. I think they may show up all at once on the site at some point._

[*]

The door to the classroom creaked open while Daryl was sitting at the teacher's desk in his own bedroom. He was underlining things and making marginal notes in _How to Please a Woman_. At the moment, he was almost done with the section on premature ejaculation. He dropped his pen, leaped up, pulled open the drawer of his filing cabinet dresser with a clang, and buried the book under his underwear with the other two guides, which he had already skimmed earlier that evening. When, feeling abashed, he emerged from behind the curtain, Carol was pulling off her shoes and settling onto the couch.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey yourself. You hungry? Want me to fix you dinner?"

"Ate some jerky and green beans from the pantry a bit ago." It wasn't until he sat down next to her on the couch that it occurred to him to say, "How 'bout you? Ya hungry?"

She shook her head. "Had something earlier. I just want put my feet up now." She rested her stocking feet on the coffee table.

"Thought ya said that weren't a hassock."

"Well, you turned it into one. Want to watch _Jane Eyre?_ You have to return it tomorrow, right?"

Daryl couldn't remember when he was supposed to return it. And, no, he didn't want to watch _Jane Eyre_. He wanted to have sex and try out some of what he'd learned from those books. But he said, "Sure" and got the movie going for her.

Daryl put his feet up on the other side of the portable DVD player from hers and stretched an arm out. She turned somewhat sideways, curled up against his side, and pulled his arm down around her waist. This was a bit more intimate a position than their past movie viewing adventures, and he liked it.

A ways into the movie, Daryl asked, "Why's he bein' such a jerk to her?"

"Can't you see he's falling in love with her?"

"Jesus. No wonder nice guys finish last. All these romances ya women read and watch have assholes."

"I don't know. You're a nice guy, and you haven't finished last, have you?" she peered up at him with a smirk.

He knew it wasn't what she meant, but all he could think of was the fact that he hadn't held out in bed long enough to let her finish first, at least not while he was in her, and his face grew hot. "Ain't nobody ever accused me of bein' a nice guy before."

She kissed his cheek. "Well, you are." She shifted to face the movie again. "I made the mistake of putting up with a jerk for years. I'm not ever doing it again."

"But ya still like the jerk in this movie?"

"If you think Mr. Rochester is a jerk," Carol said, "wait until you see Heathcliff in _Wuthering Heights_. He hangs one woman's dog. And he digs up another's grave."

"What the fuck? And ya think that's romantic?"

Carol's brow furrowed. "I did think that whole story was romantic when I was a teenager. I can't for the life of me think why now."

"Guy sounds like a psycho."

"In retrospect...yes."

Daryl shook his head.

"But Mr. Rochester's not. He just needs some moral education from Jane."

They watched in silence now. Eventually, Carol started tracing the sinews of his lower arm with a single fingertip. It was such a simple touch, but it was unexpectedly arousing, and when he looked down at her fingertip on his arm he also caught a peek down her shirt. He could feel himself stirring. He forced himself to look back at the movie.

She kept touching him in that sensual way, the warmth of her touch moving up almost to his shoulder and then back down. Carol seemed to be watching the movie while she touched him, but for awhile, he had no idea what was going on in it. It took him several minutes to stop thinking about sex and refocus on the movie. "Wait. So he's _already_ married?"

"Haven't you been paying attention?" Carol asked.

"Uh..."

"His wife is crazy and violent. She's what he's been keeping in the attic."

"Keeps his wife in the attic," Daryl said, "flirts with the pretty blonde chick he don't even like, then tries to marry the governess while his wife's still alive, and he ain't a jerk?"

"Well, just watch the whole thing," Carol insisted.

"Why ain't his wife in a mental hospital or somethin'? What the fuck is she doin' in the attic?"

"Well, because...I forget why."

Daryl shook his head. "And he didn't even tell Jane 'bout her? What the fuck? And this is yer romantic hero?"

"Well, she _is_ leaving him because of it."

"But then she's gonna come back to him, right?" Daryl asked.

"Yes, when she hears him calling her name on the wind."

Daryl snorted.

"Just watch," she insisted.

He did. And when it was over and she was turning off the DVD player, he said, "Guess it wouldn't be interestin', a romance where a guy's just regular normal and treats a girl right from start to finish."

"A story needs tension," Carol said as she leaned back against the couch. "The hero doesn't necessarily have to be a jerk who reforms, but then there's at least got to be something that keeps the hero and heroine apart for most of the story, or otherwise it just gets boring."

He put a hand on her hip and kissed her softly. "Well then," he said, his voice soft and low, "from here on out, I want our story to be as borin' as paint dryin'."

Carol chuckled, put a hand on his cheek, and kissed him back. When she pulled away, she said, "I don't think I could ever get bored of you, Daryl."

"Nah?"

"No." She kissed his forehead.

"Can we uh...can we make love now?" he asked.

"Well that doesn't sound very boring."

He smiled.

When they were behind the curtain of Carol's bedroom, she helped him out of his shirt, and her hands roamed the muscles of his chest. He closed his eyes and enjoyed her touch until he felt the heat of her hands draw away. He opened his eyes to find her unbuckling his belt. He was having trouble thinking at the moment. He'd had a plan when he came in here, an idea of what he was going to do, how he was going to be a better lover this time and put those book tips to use, but as she pulled his zipper down and slid her hand inside his pants, he couldn't remember one damn part of that plan.

"Oh, God, Carol."

She kissed him while she pushed his pants and boxers down. He groaned against her neck and began unbuttoning her shirt. When they were naked and she was turning down the sheets, he finally remembered something. "Ya wanna be on top this time?" He'd read it was easier for some women that way, and he thought maybe he might not cum as quickly in that position.

"Sure," she said, sliding under the blanket and sheets. "When we get to that part. Don't you want to play a little first?"

"Yeah." He crawled in after her.

Daryl was consumed with the touch, feel, and taste of her. When they got to _that part_ , he lasted much longer than he had the last time. In fact, he could hear her reaching the pinnacle and was sure she was just about to crest over it when her sexy whimper, combined with the way she arched her back, made him lose it. He groaned out an O _h goddamn yes sweet holy fuuuuck..._ and then _sorry_ on the tail of it. He finished her with his touch. She came fairly quickly against his hand, after which she settled against him.

"Sorry," he said again.

"Please stop saying that," she told him. "Don't be so goal oriented. Just enjoy it. _I'm_ enjoying it."

"Oh, I'm damn well enjoyin' it," he said.

She kissed his bare shoulder. He could feel her lips curve into a smile against the flesh. "Good."

He closed his eyes. He wasn't sure how much time passed, but her voice woke him. "...asleep on me, are you?"

"Hmmm? Nah."

"If I want to talk to you, it has to be before sex, doesn't it?"

"Mhmmm..." He drifted off again and awoke to -

"What do you think?"

"Hmmm? Sorry. Didn't hear what ya said."

Carol propped herself up on one elbow and looked down at him.

He forced his eyelids up. "Listenin' now."

"I was wondering if we should turn your bedroom into some other room, since it looks like you're going to be in my bed from now on. _Our_ bed, I mean."

"Sure. Whatever ya want."

"I'll redesign the room while you're hunting tomorrow. I was thinking of moving the...You aren't listening, are you?"

"Mhmmmm..."


	36. Chapter 36

Daryl snorted awake when there was a pounding on the door. The sun was streaming through the window, full light. "Shit!" he muttered.

The pounding continued, and then came Henry's voice, "Wasting daylight, mate! You should be at the truck already!"

"Shit!" Daryl rolled out of bed and began yanking on his clothes. He'd never slept past sunrise before. "Comin'!" he yelled.

Carol stirred awake, curling her legs up, her pretty blue eyes fluttering open. Christ, she was beautiful. She smiled as he buttoned and zipped his pants. "I was kind of hoping for some morning delight," she teased.

He buckled his belt. "Uh...how 'bout some afternoon delight? Probably be back at one. Ya ain't got to start cookin' til three or so, right?"

"That's a long time to wait," she said, sitting up and putting a hand on his belt buckle. She slid her other hand down the front of his pants, giving him one long, slow stroke.

"Christ, woman!" Daryl moaned. "Don't do that right now."

She smiled. "Why? You don't like this, do you?" She did it again.

He groaned and pushed her back down on the bed, crushing her mouth with his.

Henry knocked again.

"Comin'!" Daryl shouted.

"Are you?" Carol asked as she unbuckled his belt with a clang and eased her hand into the waistband of his pants and boxers.

"Oh fuck..." he groaned when she grasped him. "Stop it, woman." But she didn't, and he cupped her bare breast with his hand and squeezed it gently while she stroked him. "Oh God, sweet Jesus...oh holy..."

"Pinch my nipples," she demanded.

Daryl was surprised by her forwardness, given how shy she'd been in the past, but he was more than happy to comply. He loved the way she whimpered when he did it. Carol unbuttoned his pants while he continued to play with her breasts.

Henry, sounding very annoyed, called his name again.

"Meet ya by the truck in fifteen minutes!" Daryl shouted.

"Fine," Henry called back.

"Fifteen minutes?" Carol asked with a pout. "That's all I get?" She was unzipping him now.

"Yer the one who started this." He stood straight again and wrestled off his pants and boxers before pulling her to the edge of the bed where he could more easily lean over her. Daryl supported himself by his palms against the mattress so that only their lower halves connected and he could look at her naked breasts as he pushed into her with a thick moan.

Carol gasped in surprise.

He froze. "Sorry. Should I of waited?"

She wrapped her legs around him and began rocking her hips, which was answer enough for him. He groaned and started thrusting. "Fuck ya feel good, woman."

Maybe it was because there had been so little foreplay this time, or maybe it was because he kept redirecting his thoughts when he got too close to the brink, but Daryl held out. He didn't let himself go until she was crying his name and shuddering all around him.

He collapsed when he came, and then rolled off onto his back beside her, panting. He didn't know why sex took so much out of him. He could hike and hunt and run in the forest for hours, and he wouldn't feel this wiped out.

Carol rolled over and kissed his cheek. "You better get dressed. Henry's going to be angry."

"Does the Kingdom really need to eat every damn day?"

[*]

Daryl felt like all eyes were on him as he approached the truck.

"Good zing we don't hand out tardy slips," Jakob said.

"We may have to start," Henry suggested, with a twinkle in his eye. "Some people only respond to the carrot or the stick, and I think perhaps Daryl has an apartment full of carrots."

Daryl kept his eyes on the ground while he pulled open the rear door. He looked up before stepping in because he heard Gloria's voice. "You gentlemen haven't left yet?"

"Daryl was running a tad late," Henry told her. He pulled Gloria to himself, kissed her, and whispered something in her ear. She chuckled, slid a knapsack off her shoulder and said, "You forgot your lunch." Henry thanked her and climbed into the driver's side.

"How very sweet," Al said as he climbed into the front passenger's seat. Daryl slammed his door shut, as did Jakob next to him. "Your wife makes you lunch. Does she tuck you in at night as well?"

Henry tossed the back pack roughly at Al. "You can only _wish_ a woman as beautiful as Gloria tucked you in."

Al put the backpack between his feet as Henry started the truck.

Jakob chuckled. "Or _any_ woman for zat matter."

"It is not as if _you_ are getting much attention at home," Al reminded him.

"Third trimester. And we have been married zirteen years. Gloria and Henry are newlyweds."

"Not _that_ new," Henry said. "It's been seven months now."

"Has it been that long?" Al asked. "I thought she arrived in the Kingdom just eight months ago? And she had just lost her husband."

"Well, I'd also recently lost my wife," Henry observed.

Daryl couldn't imagine moving on that quickly to someone else, if he lost Carol. Of course, he couldn't imagine being with anyone else at all. "Ya convinced her to marry ya in four weeks?" Daryl asked.

"It was a whirlwind courtship," Henry said. "Which is all anyone has time for in this world."

"I don't know about zat," Jakob said. "How long has Daryl known Carol now?"

Al laughed and looked at Daryl in the rear view mirror. "But you have - how do you say it? _Sealed the deal_ at last, no?"

Daryl glowered and didn't say anything.

"Leave him be," Henry insisted. He looked in the rear view mirror. "If you ever want to marry her, though, Daryl, there's a process for that here."

"If'n I do, I sure as hell ain't gonna apply to Ezekiel for a fuckin' license."

"There's no license," Henry said soothingly. "There's just a ceremony in the theater, and it's recorded in the Kingdom record book."

"And ze women," Jakob said, "they like ze weddings."

"How'd Gloria just get here eight months ago?" Daryl asked. "Carol said she was a music teacher at the school?"

"Yes, she used to be," Henry replied. "But she and her husband fled the city when the epidemic started. They went to hide out in their summer beach cabin in Ocean City. It was on a remote part of the beach and had generators and grills and a fireplace, and her husband could fish."

The pick-up dipped in and out of a pothole. Henry righted it. "But there was a hurricane," he continued, "and the cabin was destroyed. Half the shoreline, really. So they spent awhile wandering Maryland and looking for a peaceful camp to join. Her husband was killed by lurchers, and, ironically, Gloria's come full circle back to D.C."

When they arrived at the Royal Forest, they didn't break into groups this time. They were determined to work together to find the wild boar that had been alluding them all.

This was Daryl's first time hunting with Al and Jakob. He was impressed by Jakob's stealth - he could never tell where the man was unless he was standing right beside him. He also respected Al's eye for the sign, but he could always tell where that man was, because he talked constantly. Henry finally shushed him as the trail grew fresher.

The boar fled them after Daryl got an arrow in its side and Henry got a bullet in its hind. Al chased it down on foot, running with remarkable speed through the forest, and speared it, after which Jakob fired the killing shot to the brain to put it out of its misery.

They laid their kill on a drag sled, and Al and Jakob each took hold of a rope to pull it through the forest while Henry and Daryl walked behind the dead boar, armed and ready for any threat, though they didn't really _expect_ any. The forest was usually peaceful and they rarely encounter walkers here, let alone people.

So it took them all by surprise when the sound of a gunshot rang out in the midst of the birdsong that surrounded them.


	37. Chapter 37

Carol was feeling satisfied and strangely self-confident as she directed the royal servants. "Just take the entire bed," she told them. It would be ready to use whenever the knights found another refugee. "And come back for this filing cabinet. We won't need it anymore either."

The men nodded and began hauling the bed out.

Carol looked around Daryl's bedroom and smiled to think of how forward she'd been with him this morning. It had been thrilling to play the naughty, horny girlfriend, instead of the dutiful but reluctant wife, and clearly she'd succeeded in exciting him. He hadn't been able to walk away from her, and he'd surprised - but also excited - her by taking her as suddenly as he did. She loved his tenderness, but she also loved his virility, and she was looking forward to a wide variety of experiences with him in the weeks and months to come.

Carol began pulling open the drawers of Daryl's filing cabinet and clearing them out. There was plenty of room in her wardrobe and dresser for his clothes, and she didn't want this rusty, puke green piece to be part of their bedroom ensemble. She took the two button-down shirts (his "banquet shirts") out of his top drawer and hung them from hangers on the wardrobe rack. She took his "banquet pants" and his second pair of work pants from his second drawer and hung them up as well. In the third drawer she found a bunch of sleeveless t-shirts and underwear, which she lifted to transfer to her empty dresser drawer.

That was when her eyes fell on a flash of flesh - a pair of young, naked, and beautiful female breasts. Thinking she'd uncovered a porn magazine, she felt suddenly embarrassed, but also insecure and a little bit irritated. What did he need that for, now that they were having sex? Was she failing to satisfy him? Did he wish she looked more like the women in those magazines? Ed had always compared her unfavorably to them.

But as she completely cleared the clothes off of the picture, she realized she was looking at the cover of an illustrated sex guide, and not just any sex guide, but _How to Please a Woman_. Beneath that was the _Joy of Sex_ and below that _The Modern Kama Sutra_. Carol smiled.

She hid the books at the bottom of his new underwear drawer in their now shared dresser and waited for the servants to return for the old filing cabinet. When they left, she turned Daryl's old bedroom into a library/study. Then she drew out the buried sex guides, sat down at the teacher's desk in the new study, and began paging through them, noticing with excitement, amusement, and occasional trepidation Daryl's marginal notes and underlines.

She picked up a pencil and began making a few notations of her own in the margins of the books, such as, "That's not true. Don't believe that"; "You're good at that"; "I like that"; "I do not like that"; "That looks fun. We should try it"; "No! Gross. No."; or "Yes!"

When she was finished with her own commentary, she closed the books up and returned them to his underwear drawer.

[*]

The bullet hit a tree just to the right of Jakob, a mere two inches above his head. The huntsman ducked, dropped his rope, and grabbed his rifle. Al also dropped his rope. Holding his spear with his left hand, the tall African unholstered his handgun with his right. Henry and Daryl leveled their weapons at the tree line and scanned the foliage for any sign of the shooter.

Another shot rang out, sending the dirt and leaves up in a cloud just in front of Al's foot. He leaped backwards.

Jakob and Henry let off a barrage of rifle fire in the general direction from which the two gunshots had come. The huntsmen must have fired eight shots between the two of them, instinctively and without knowing what they were shooting at, before they paused to evaluate.

"Stop!" a deep voice cried out from somewhere in the forest. "Don't shoot! Thought you were flesh-eaters! Sorry!"

The huntsmen lowered their guns, though Daryl, his alert eyes darting left and right and back, kept his crossbow leveled.

"We're people!" Henry yelled.

"I can tell that by the way you fired back," came the voice.

All four men kept their eyes on the tree line as twigs cracked and leaves crunched and finally a man emerged, holding up his hands, his rifle shouldered. "I didn't hit anyone did I?"

"Very nearly," Henry said. "Maybe you should get a clear sight picture before you start firing, you think?"

"Sorry," the man apologized again. "I haven't seen any people in months. I really thought you were flesh-eaters."

"I have no idea how you've survived this long just squeezing off distant shots like that," Henry lectured him as he approached. "Gunshots draw the lurchers, you know. And no one can be wasting ammunition in this world."

"You just shot at me eight times," the man reminded him. "Without knowing where I was."

"Zat was different," Jakob insisted. "You were shooting at us."

"Again, I apologize."

Henry looked from Al to Jakob. Jakob raised a bushy eyebrow. Al shrugged.

"How long have you been in these woods?" Henry asked.

"Just since yesterday. I've been moving constantly, all over Maryland and now here, trying to find my wife." He held out his hand to Henry. "I'm Jason."

Henry took a step back, away from the man's hand. A look of pain or doubt or fear - Daryl couldn't quite tell which - crossed his face. But then Henry very reluctantly extended his hand and shook. "Henry Wordsworth."

The rest of the huntsmen introduced themselves one by one. As Daryl shook, he looked the man over. He was tall, lean, tan and handsome, probably in his early forties, with thick, wavy black hair and olive-green eyes. Daryl didn't get a suspicious vibe from the man himself, but the wary way Henry was eyeing Jason put Daryl on edge.

"Where did you lose track of your wife?" Henry asked with what seemed to Daryl a forced calm.

"We got separated in Rockville," Jason said. "When we were scouting for supplies. We were divided by a herd of flesh eaters."

"Rockville?" Henry asked, and the strange, hollow tone in his voice caused Daryl to grip his crossbow instinctively tighter. He had a sense Henry was making connections he wasn't or couldn't.

"I'm sure it must have looked to her like I was devoured, but I crawled safely under some wreckage, and as I was crawling out, I saw her jumping into a slow moving car. Whether she was being abducted or rescued, I don't even know. But I keep looking for her. It's all that keeps me going."

"What did the car look like?" Henry asked.

"Just a sedan. But it had..." His eyes dropped to the boomerang in Henry's belt. Jason stepped back, breathed in sharply, and covered his mouth with a hand. With his other, he seized the butt of his rifle, which caused Jakob to raise his rifle in warning.

"This symbol," Henry said, drawing out the boomerang and pointing to the painted, seven-pointed crown that symbolized the Kingdom.

Jason nodded and slowly let go of his rifle, letting it hang loose against his shoulder.

Henry shoved the boomerang back in his belt. He bent over slightly, like he'd just experienced a sudden cramp.

"Your wife must have been rescued by one of the knights of the Kingdom," Al told Jason as Henry began to walk away toward the woods, holding his side.

"The Kingdom?" Jason asked.

"It is what we call our camp," Al said. "Our community. Return with us, and we will see if your wife is there."

"Where is he going?" asked Jakob, watching Henry retreat.

Henry walked faster, until he was partly out of sight, half his body obscured by trees, at which point he put his palm flat against a tree.

"Is he sick?" Jakob asked.

"What is your wife's name?" Al asked.

"Gloria O'Donnell," Jason answered. Jakob and Al turned their eyes slowly to one another, and then to the woods, where Henry now stood with his forehead pressed against the rough bark.


	38. Chapter 38

Daryl fiddled with his crossbow as he stood beside Henry. High above, a woodpecker drilled violently against the bark, with a _rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat_ that seemed suddenly deafening. Henry drew his forehead from the tree and turned to Daryl, his eyes dull and...tired. He looked strangely tired to Daryl.

"They's headin' back to the truck with the boar, the three of 'em. Told 'em I'd check on ya. Bring ya along."

"Did Jakob or Al say anything to him?" Henry asked. "About Gloria and me?"

"Al just said Gloria was in the Kingdom. We ain't any of us said nothin' else."

Henry let out a long, shaky breath. "She thought he was dead. She thought she watched him die."

Daryl nodded. "Yeah. I got that."

Henry shook his head. "I've made her a bigamist."

"Ya couldn't have known," Daryl told him. He jerked his head toward the direction in which the others had retreated, Jason and Al dragging the boar, Jakob standing guard with his rifle. "C'mon. We gotta get back."

"To what? The happy reunion? She's going to leave me for him."

"Ya don't know that."

Henry laughed bitterly and shook his head. "You saw him. Handsome fellow, isn't he? I'm ten years older than either him or Gloria. And she was married to him for nine years. She's not going to choose _me_ over him."

"Ya don't know that," Daryl repeated, because he didn't know what else he could say. He turned and took two steps toward the clearing, paused, and waited for Henry to follow.

The dead leaves broke apart beneath their boots as they walked slowly, side by side. "What would you do, if Carol's husband turned out not to be dead after all, and he suddenly showed up in the Kingdom?"

"She wouldn't want 'em."

"I don't think I can say the same for Gloria," Henry replied. "She said he was a good husband to her, though we didn't talk much about our spouses to one another. We were trying to go on living."

Daryl murmured, just to show he was listening.

"Should I tell him, do you think?" Henry asked. "On this drive back? Or let Gloria tell him?"

"Dunno. Might be best to let her. Don't want trouble on the way back, if'n it makes him angry. Don't want a fight while we's drivin'."

Henry covered his eyes with his hands and pulled his thumb and forefinger to a point at his nose, as if maybe he was wiping away a few stray tears. He looked off in the distance.

Daryl felt horrible for him, but he didn't know what to say. Finally, he tried, "Gloria loves ya. Anyone with eyes can see that."

"Yes, she does. Because I was available, and I was alive, and you love the one you're with."

"You weren't the only single man in that Kingdom when she got there, was ya?"

Henry looked at the dull brown and tan leaves beneath his feet. "I was the only with the guts to come onto her."

Daryl wished he'd been more like that with Carol, that he hadn't been so timid. All this time he could have been with her, maybe, if he'd just admitted he _wanted_ to be.

Henry exhaled. "Oh...fuck. Fuck it all."

Daryl wasn't used to Henry swearing much. He fell silent and just walked beside him, step by step, until he heard the trees rustling. Daryl whirled and shot one walker in the head with an arrow from his crossbow, then another.

"All that gunfire drew the lurhcers," Henry said, leveling his gun, but not shooting, as Daryl's third arrow quietly whizzed into the last walker.

When Daryl went to recover his arrows, he saw several more walkers - a herd of about eight - coming their way from a distance through the trees. "Shit."

"I didn't think there were many left in these woods," Henry said.

"We better get movin'."

They began by walking quickly, but eventually broke into a jog. When they caught up to the others, Henry said, "Lurchers, over half a dozen coming our way. Pick up the pace."

Dragging the boar took some time, so Daryl and Al had to hang back with their quieter weapons, picking the walkers off with arrows and spear while the others got the boar back to the truck.

Al was jumpy with adrenaline when they got to the pick-up and smiling broadly like he'd just won a marathon. "Have not had the chance to do that in some time," he said.

"You like it?" Jakob asked.

"Admit it. You miss it, too," Al replied. "You did not train all those years with Mossad just to hunt game."

Jakob shook his head and pulled open the back of the pick-up. Jason climbed in next to him, eyeing him warily. "You worked for Mossad?" he asked as Daryl squeezed in next to him.

"That is what he claims," said Al from the front passenger seat as Henry started the truck. "But Jakob told me many tall tales those months we were surviving in the embassy together."

Daryl had never heard Jakob say more than a handful of words at a time, so he had trouble imagining him being chatty with Al, but he didn't really know either man well. He was reminded that, just a few days ago, he had been as much a stranger here as Jason. It was odd for Daryl to realize that he might already be settling into the Kingdom.

Nobody said anything about Henry and Gloria on the drive back to the Kingdom. Jason asked questions about the Kingdom, which Al answered.

"So you all know Gloria," Jason asked. "She's well?"

"She is in good health," Al answered him. "She teaches the children, from age six to eleven. And she conducts the orchestra."

"You have an _orchestra_?"

"You must see," Al said. "You must see the Kingdom with your own eyes. And you will come before King Ezekiel, and his Prviy Council will assign you a calling. What are your talents?"

"I can fish. I can fight."

Daryl snorted.

"What?" Jason asked.

"'Ya couldn't even hit one of us by yer second shot," Daryl said.

"Well, you didn't hit me with that blind barrage of gunfire either," Jason said. "But I've survived this long on my own. And I kept my wife alive for a long time, too."

"Perhaps she kept herself alive," Henry said, and then bit his tongue.

"Gloria's a strong woman," Jason replied, "but I doubt she'd make it alone in this world. I'm glad she was found by good people. You _are_ good people, aren't you?"

"Should have zought about zat before you got in ze truck with us," Jakob said, and then chuckled dryly.

"We _are_ good people," Al reassured him. "Are _you_?"

"As good as anyone can be in this world, I suppose," Jason replied. "I haven't killed anyone who didn't need killing. Haven't robbed anyone. Haven't taken anyone's wife."

Henry plowed down a walker in his path. The truck jolted and rose and leveled again on the road.

[*]

When they arrived at the Kingdom, Jason looked around with wonder, his eyes falling on the fountain in the courtyard. "You have running water?"

"Yes," Al said. "Power, too."

"Take me to Gloria."

"I'll bring her to you," Henry told him. "You need to be oriented to the Kingdom. Al will introduce you to the tour guide."

While Henry went in search of Gloria, and Al took Jason to the tour guide, Daryl and Jakob brought the boar to the butcher's table in the cafeteria, where the butcher was already present and sharpening his knives. As they cut through the cafeteria to leave, Jakob said, "I would have left zat man in ze forest. But Henry is a better man zan I."

Daryl peered at him. He made a note to himself to keep Jakob on his good side.

[*]

Daryl headed to the locker room to wash up. Sasha popped out of the gym as he passed. "Aren't we lifting today?" she called after him.

He turned. "Dunno. Don't want to today." He was too agitated on Henry's behalf.

She jerked her head to motion him over, so he walked back to her. "Council meeting," she whispered.

He followed her to the weight room, where Rick, Carol, and Michonne were already gathered.

"Brought in a new guy," Daryl told them. "Found him in the Royal Forest." He'd wait until he was alone with Carol to talk about the fact that the man was Gloria's husband.

Michonne smiled. "Really? Is he cute?" Rick looked at her scoldingly, and she smiled back at him.

Sasha chuckled. "It's a fair question."

"I thought you was too busy playin' footsie with Ezekiel to care 'bout cute guys," Daryl said.

"Footsies?" Sasha asked. "I _may_ flirt sometimes. _If_ and _when_ it serves my purpose."

"Ya ain't attracted to him?" Daryl was thinking about that genuine-looking smile they'd shared at the concert.

"Why would it bother you so much if she was?" Carol asked. She sounded a little irritated.

"'Cause Sasha's one of us," Daryl told her, "and Ezekiel's a crazy fucker. How do we know he don't just take what he wants?"

"Because if he did," Sasha said. "He would have taken it by now. You don't really know him."

"Nah, I don't," Daryl said. "Ya know why? Because he's an elitist asshole who don't mingle with the commoners. Hangs out in his royal quarters, sits on the stage at banquets, don't talk to no one but his Privy Council."

"His habits and methods are bizarre," Sasha said, "but you have to admit - he's built something good here. Something solid. Organized. Efficient. Peaceful. Safe."

"It _works_ , Daryl," Michonne agreed. "And that's more than any of us can say for most of this screwed up world."

Daryl didn't reply.

"I thought you liked it here now," Carol said quietly, with the slightest hint of fear in her voice.

"I don't hate it no more," he told her. "'Cause I got ya...y'all. And I like Henry. Got Savannah, too. I like huntin', feedin' people. Guess I don't mind the comfort too much neither. But we're still _guests_ here. We ain't part of the structure."

" _I_ am," Sasha insisted. "And I can represent you all on the Privy Council. So what is it you want changed?"

"Don't want to have to wait to pick up my damn fork 'til Ezekiel does it," Daryl said. "Don't want to call him king."

"That's not worth exerting my influence for." Sasha put a hand on her hip.

"This calling thing is bullshit too," Daryl said. "People need to contribute, need jobs, but it ain't got to be just one. Let people decide what they _want_ to do."

"There are things we _need_ done, though," Sasha said.

"Well, then tell people what we need done, and let 'em pick from that. Don't just lock 'em into one thing for good. I can hunt _and_ I can be a supply runner. I got too much time on my hands here."

"Do you?" Carol asked with a smile. "I thought you were enjoying your free time."

Daryl flushed and looked at his boots.

"I thought you _were_ going on supply runs with Savannah?" Michonne said.

Daryl looked up. "Yeah, but she's got to get permission every damn time for me to come. Shouldn't be like that. Have a log or some shit, if you need to know where people are. Sign in, sign out at the gate. But this rigidness..." He shook his head.

Sasha nodded. "I'll suggest a log instead of the permission process." She looked around at the others. "Anything else you want me to suggest?"

Rick suggested the knights needed more range time and less playing with swords. "This isn't the 12th century."

Michonne rolled her eyes at him. "I don't know. Some of us can accomplish a lot with a sword."

"Swords are fine for fighting walkers. But we needed more guns and more marksmen. And everyone in the Kingdom should take lessons and know how to shoot, not just the knights."

Carol offered a suggestion next, about changing the day for rations from the communal pantry, and the meeting wore on, until Sasha had a long list of things to bring up at the next Privy Council meeting.


	39. Chapter 39

Daryl offered to walk Carol to the kitchen after the Council meeting. She glanced at him and saw his shirt and pants were splattered with blood, in such a pattern that it was clear he'd been killing walkers rather than just game. It suddenly occurred to her that he had the most dangerous job in the Kingdom, because he was outside the gates six days a week. The supply runners only left four days a week. Even the knights rotated through scouting parties, so that each left the gates only a few times a week to look for refugees and potential threats. "You run into trouble?"

"A little. Walkers. Don't worry. Wash up 'fore the banquet."

"It wasn't your _appearance_ I was worried about," she said. "I was beginning to forget how dangerous it is out there. I train every day with guns and knives...just in case...but I haven't personally faced a threat in weeks."

"Ain't that dangerous. Hardly see walkers in them woods." He told her about finding Gloria's husband, and Carol's heart sunk for Henry, but also for Gloria, who was going to have to make a difficult choice. "Think she'll go back to 'em?" Daryl asked.

"I don't know. We're friends, but she's never really talked to me much about her first husband, other than to mention that he saved her life. He stayed back to fight off a herd of walkers so she would have time to escape. And then one of the knights rescued her while she was fleeing. She said he was completely overwhelmed by them."

"Crawled under some wreckage," Daryl explained. "Escaped."

"I'm sure whatever happens, it's not going to be easy for any of them. It's like Shane and Lori and Rick all over again."

"Henry and Gloria ain't nothin' like Shane and Lori. They's _married_ for one. Ya think Gloria'd leave him that easy, as easy as Lori went back to Rick?'

"No, it's going to be a lot harder for her, if that's what she chooses to do. I know she loves Henry." Gloria teased Henry a lot, pretended to be less enamored with him than he was with her, but Carol saw the way her eyes lit up when she talked about him.

"Who knows, maybe Gloria will keep them both," Carol said, trying to lighten the heaviness of the moment. Daryl narrowed his eyes at her. She chuckled. "What? As far as I know, there's no law against polygamy in the Kingdom."

"Ya ain't a'right with that, are ya?"

"Polygamy?" she asked with a teasing smile. "Not my style."

"Better not be," Daryl said. "'Cause I don't want ya with no one else."

"I'm not interested in anyone else."

"Even if ya was, don't want ya with him."

She took his hand and squeezed it. "I don't want you with anyone else either."

Daryl dropped her hand because, as they neared the town square, there was a scene unraveling. People who had been milling about had slowed to a stop to watch as Jason ran to embrace Gloria, picked her up off her feet, and put her back down. Henry stood off to the side, near the fountain, staring into the rippling pool where the water fell as Jason kissed his lost wife. Gloria pulled away, took Jason's hands, and began speaking to him.

Carol covered her mouth and blinked back the instinctive tears as Henry turned and paced away, brushing past her shoulder without looking at her.

Daryl glanced at him as he walked past. He turned to follow, but Henry said, "Leave me alone," so Daryl went back to Carol. "Wonder if Jason knows 'bout Henry yet."

"I think she's telling him now," Carol replied. Jason had pulled his hands out of Gloria's, taken a step back, and was rubbing his forehead as if he was trying to get a hold of himself. "That's got to be upsetting, her marrying someone so soon after she thought he was dead." Jason was pacing now, like a caged animal. "Maybe he won't want to take her back and the decision will be made for her."

Daryl put a hand on the small of her back and urged her away from the scene and toward the cafeteria. Carol threw a departing glance over her shoulder and saw that Jason had stopped before Gloria and was talking - not angrily - to her - and that he'd taken her hand.

"He cain't really have loved her if he don't want her after that," Daryl said. "She thought he was dead. She didn't do nothin' wrong."

Carol looked forward again. "You'd want me back, if I had moved on that quickly?"

"Ya forget Tobin already?"

"Daryl, we didn't - "

"- didn't have sex. Yeah, I know. But it still pisses me off."

"Still?" she asked.

"Did. It _did_. That's behind us now."

Carol stopped walking. "Doesn't sound like it's behind us."

"Forget I mentioned it. Ain't the same anyhow. You and I...we weren't..." He shrugged. He bit his lip. "I loved ya though. When ya was with him. And it..." He shrugged.

"Hurt?" she asked.

"Yeah." He looked away.

Carol stepped closer and put a hand on his hip. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

"My fault anyhow," he said, looking at the ground. "Should have had the balls to tell ya how I felt sooner. Like Henry did with Glora. Right away. He may have lost her now, but at least he had her for as long as he could."

Carol closed the last step between them and kissed him. The court jester, who was passing by, shouted, "Get a room!"

Daryl flushed and stepped back.

[*]

Daryl returned to the apartment to drop his pack and hang up his bow before heading to the locker room for a shower. He walked through the curtain to where his bedroom used to be and found it completely rearranged. The hooks were still on the wall, so he figured that was still where Carol wanted him to hang his weapons. He put up the quiver and bow and looked around, which was when he noticed the puke green filling cabinet was gone.

He eased along the edge of the curtain to her bedroom, what was now _their_ bedroom, he supposed, and saw it wasn't there either. She must have cleared out all his stuff and put it somewhere else.

 _Shit._

The books.

He went to the large, black filing cabinet Carol had turned into a dresser. She'd draped it with a colorful, patterned cloth that covered the top and sides and placed a small stack of neatly arranged, classic, hardback novels on top to hold it in place. He rolled out the first drawer and found her underwear and socks. His eyes fell on a particularly lacy pair of red panties, and he quickly shut the drawer. In the second drawer was her t-shirts, and in the third, sweats. In the fourth drawer, he found his own t-shirts and underwear. Daryl dug under them and discovered that the books were there, but not with _How to Please a Woman_ on top. _The Joy of Sex_ was on top now.

Maybe she'd had the royal servants move everything. Maybe she hadn't seen them. It was embarrassing enough if the servants saw them, but he didn't know them, and he didn't talk to them. If Carol had seen them, on the other hand...

He pulled out the stack, sat on the neatly made bed, and began to page through the books for any clue that she might have been looking at them. The first thing he saw, in _How to Please a Woman_ , was another set of notes in the margin, in a sweeping, feminine cursive - the words "Gross. No. Gross."

 _Shit._

Not only had she found them, but she'd gone through them and seen what he had underlined. And she thought he was a perv for thinking about doing the things he'd been thinking about doing.

 _Shit._

He turned a few more pages and saw, "You're very good at that." The edge of his lips twitched into a smile, and he began to feel a little less uneasy. Then he found, "That looks fun. Let's try that," and this time, something else twitched.

He went through all of the books, read her marginal commentary, and made a mental note of it. He still felt embarrassed, but less so than he had when he'd started. In fact, he was grateful to know what she wanted to try and what she didn't, because he never could have asked her that directly, and it was better than trying something only to find it completely turned her off. Now he knew what to try and what not to try.

He buried two of the books back under his underwear, but he held out the _Modern Kama Sutra_ and flipped to the page that had a position he really wanted to try with her. He'd put a star in the corner of the page, but she hadn't put any commentary in this particular book. So Daryl went to the study, got a pen, and wrote, "Yes or no?" in the margin. Then he ripped off a piece of paper as a bookmark and slid it between the pages before returning to their bedroom and laying the book right on top of those lacy red panties. The drawer clanged shut.


	40. Chapter 40

Daryl joined his people, as usual, for the banquet, but it was an increasingly smaller group. Tobin now sat with his new girlfriend, and tonight, Daryl noticed Sasha was missing. "She's dining with the Privy Council now," Rick said, nodding to the table closest to the stage, where the seven members of the council sat together - three women and four men.

"No time for us commoners no more, huh?" Daryl asked.

"Be fair," Michonne said. "She's representing us. If she's going to have influence, she needs to play the game."

"She's gone native," Daryl grumbled, and then remembered Merle telling him that once and how much it had pissed him off at the time.

"She's doing what she feels is best," Michonne told him. "It may not be what you think is best."

"Yeah," Daryl muttered, somewhat contritely. He looked around the banquet hall for Henry, but didn't see him at his usual table, where he typically sat across from Gloria and next to Jakob and Jakob's wife, whose name Daryl could never remember - Rita or Rivkah or Riva or some such. In Henry's usual spot was Jason. Gloria appeared to be explaining to him how things operated at the banquet, and he kept looking around the cafeteria with amazement.

When King Ezekiel assumed the stage and the tiger made its announcing roar, Jason leaped up from his seat, saw no one else was alarmed, and sat back down, his hand over his heart, smiling. Gloria leaned across the table and said something to him.

Daryl scanned the banquet hall, but he didn't see Henry sitting anywhere else either. When Carol joined them halfway through the meal, he whispered, "Ya seen Henry?"

She shook her head.

He shoveled the rest of his dinner quickly in his mouth. Carol had probably done a fantastic job with the barbecue, but he could barely taste anything. He leaned over to Carol again. "Think I'm gonna go look for 'em."

"I think that's a good idea. He could probably use a friend right now."

"Could probably use a better one than me. One who knows what the hell to say."

"Maybe what he needs right now is a friend who just listens." She kissed his cheek, and Daryl slid back his chair.

[*]

Daryl found Henry outside the apartment he shared with Gloria, in the hallway, directing the royal servants, who were carrying two large boxes, "Portable C-3. Just leave them on the floor. Sorry to interrupt your banquet."

"No worries," one of the servants said. "My wife's holding dinner for us."

Daryl leaned his shoulder against the cinder block wall. When the servants were out of earshot, he asked, "Ya movin' out?"

"Well I'm bloody well not sharing a bed with Jason."

Daryl cast his eyes down at the faux marble hallway and wished he had a clue what to say. "Uh...came across a bottle of Maker's while I's out with Savannah the other day." He'd found it shortly after snagging that DVD player, but he hadn't touched it yet. "Want a drink?"

Henry nodded. "I could use a drink."

[*]

"Kissing Daryl in _public_ ," Michonne said teasingly over her coffee cup. "I guess this means things have progressed?"

Savannah had left early, as she often did. Carl was gone from the table to walk up and down the side of the cafeteria with a toddling, restless Judith, and Rick had slid over two seats to discuss reloading practice ammunition for the range with Eugene, so they had a small amount of privacy.

Carol leaned across the table. "Don't tease him about it. He'll get..."

"Ruffled?" Michonne asked. "Daryl gets ruffled about everything. That's half the fun of teasing him."

"If you must know, no more separate bedrooms. And it's...I think it's serious."

"You _think_? It's _always_ been serious, Carol." Michonne chuckled, shook her head, and sipped her coffee again.

[*]

Daryl dug the Maker's out of the bottom drawer of the teacher's desk. The desk had been moved, but the contents were undisturbed. He grabbed two 8 ounce glasses from the pantry and rejoined Henry in the living room.

"Carol's done this place up nicely," Henry said. "It has a real feminine touch." Daryl poured two fingers and handed him a glass. Henry took it and sat down on the love seat. Daryl poured himself just one finger and sat down beside him. The Maker's bottle clunked as Daryl set it on the coffee table. Henry sipped, sighed, and winced.

"Ain't great," Daryl agreed. "Been sittin' in and out of heat."

"Better than nothing," Henry told him. Henry looked around the apartment. "I see she makes you pick up after yourself."

"Mhmhm."

"Gloria was always nagging me about my socks on the floor. Guess I can put my socks wherever I bloody well please now."

Daryl turned his glass in is hand as Henry emptied his and slammed it down on the coffee table. Daryl poured him another two fingers, and Henry plucked the glass back up. This time, though, he just settled back against the love seat and rested it on his leg.

"Gloria tell 'em?" Daryl ventured to ask. "'Bout y'all?"

"She had to. She wouldn't be able to hide it here. Everyone knows us as man and wife. He was upset, naturally, but he said he'd forgive her." Henry took a slow sip and rolled the bourbon on his tongue before setting the glass against his knee again. He swallowed. "Magnanimous of him, no?"

Daryl sipped, just to preoccupy his mouth, since he wasn't using it to speak.

"Gloria says she loves me, but she feels the right thing to do is to try to make it work with Jason, because she loves him, too - or at least she did - and her first vow was to him. He's been looking for her all this time, and they were together so long. She's sorry, she's so very sorry...yada yada...but he was her husband for almost a decade. And she wishes me all the happiness in the world."

"Mhm."

Henry laughed bitterly. "So that's it. A seven month marriage. Down the drain. We'll have to strike it from the record books." He lifted his glass. "I will have the remarkable distinction of being the first man ever to obtain a divorce in the Kingdom." He turned to Daryl and held his glass toward him. "No one can ever say I didn't earn my place in history." He moved his glass toward Daryl, like he wanted Daryl to toast him, but Daryl just kept his glass on his knee. "Come on, mate! I'm making history!"

Daryl ran a finger around the rim of his glass. It whistled.

"Fine. Don't celebrate with me. Please yourself." Henry downed the contents of his glass, grabbed the bottle, and poured sloppy into his glass, filling it at least half full.

"Ya might want to slow down," Daryl warned him.

"Should have slowed down in the first place," he said and gulped almost an ounce of the brown liquid. "When I met Gloria. Shouldn't have fallen so hard so fast. Should have slept around. Had my fun. Attached myself to no one."

"Ya don't really wish that," Daryl said.

"Ah, you're of the philosophical school that thinks it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."

"I ain't of any school. I ain't even graduated high school."

Henry laughed. He sipped some more. "Whoa! I'm feeling that now." He shook his head. "I haven't eaten since eleven."

Daryl was beginning to regret offering him the bourbon. What if he was a mean drunk and he went after Jason?

"I guess they're going to be having sex tonight," Henry said, slurring his s's a little, sipping, and then continuing, "in that bed. That same bed where she and I..." He sipped agian. "I wonder how Jason will feel about that? Fucking his wife in a bed where another man has fucked his wife? Maybe they'll - "

"- Don't."

"Don't what?" Henry asked.

"Don't think 'bout it."

"He's a little pissant, isn't he? Couldn't even shoot us!" He said pissant as _pisssshhhh-ant_ and shoot as _shh-shhh-oot_.

"Dumb ass," Daryl agreed.

"I don't know what she sees in him." He swallowed more bourbon. "Almost makes me lose respect for her, to think she loves him. Loved him. Wants to try to love him again. What a little pissant."

"He ain't no match for ya," Daryl agreed. "She's makin' a dumb ass choice."

"Hey!" Henry shouted, and pointed at him, his glass in his hand. The bourbon swished up the sides and then back down, settling in a shallow, whirling pool. "Don't insult my Gloria! She's not stupid!"

"Sorry," Daryl said, holding a hand up as a kind of stop sign.

"Don't you _ever_ call her an ass!"

"I didn't. Didn't call her an ass."

Henry glared at him over his glass and then drained it.

Daryl put the cap back on the bottle and stood.

"Where you going with that?" Henry asked.

"Ya've had enough."

"Bring it back."

"Nah."

Daryl was just beyond the curtain to the study when Henry rammed into him, with an elbow to his back. The bottle went flying. It landed on a padded chair in the study and didn't break. "What the hell, man?" Daryl asked.

Henry was headed for the bottle when Daryl put a hand on his chest and walked him back to the love seat. "Sit down!" he ordered, and pushed.

Henry plopped down on his ass. His head bobbed, and he retched and then swallowed.

"Ya had eight fingers in ten minutes on an empty stomach," Daryl said. "Shouldn't of let ya do that."

"No, that's good of you," Henry said, patting his flat stomach. "A liquid diet will get rid of this belly. Then I can start chasing the ladies in my bachelorhood." He wretched again. Brown, watery vomit spewed all over Carol's pretty area rug.

"Fuck, man. Carol loves that rug."

Henry looked down on his own vomit, staining the white circles of the light, geometric pattern. "Sorry," he said. "Guess you aren't getting laid tonight either."

[*]

When Carol came home after the banquet, already showered and in her sweats and tank top, she immediately noticed the rug was missing. The second thing she noticed was that the room was permeated with air freshener, as if Daryl had sprayed half a can of lemon scent. "What happened in here?" she asked.

Daryl was sitting at the kitchen table, tightening the strings of the crossbow. He left it there and came to stand on the other side of the coffee table from her. "Gave Henry too much bourbon. He up-chucked all over that rug ya love. Got stained, smelled foul, so we just threw it out. Sorry."

She slid down on the love seat. "It's just a rug. I don't care. How is Henry? Not good, I gather?"

Daryl sat down next to her. "He's moved out to one of the portables. Just walked 'em to bed a bit ago. He's passed out in there. Got my old bed."

"You're a good friend," she told him.

"I'm a shit friend. Let him drink himself sick in ten minutes flat."

"Well, maybe that's what he needed tonight." She put a hand on his knee. "I talked to Gloria a little, after the banquet. She's very conflicted, but she feels like if Jason wants her back, she needs to go back to him. She's very sorry to hurt Henry. She wishes they could be friends."

"Cain't be friends. Ain't no way ya can be friends with someone ya love."

Carol laughed. "We managed for a long time."

"Ya well, that was dumb. Should of been more." He leaned over and kissed her.

She pulled back with a twinkle in her eye. "You in the mood to screw around? Or are you too upset about Henry?"

"Am upset. Screwin' 'round'd make me feel better."

She stood, took his hand, and tugged.

When they got through the curtain, she turned to him and waited for him to make the first move. He always seemed suddenly shy when they came through that red shield of privacy, and for awhile he just stood there, looking at her. But then he stepped forward and kissed her passionately. He pulled away eventually, pressed his forehead to hers, and fondled her breast through her tank top, circling his thumb over her nipple and watching it grow erect through the thin fabric.

"Damn yer beautiful," he whispered.

She tilted her head to kiss his lips briefly. "What do you want to do tonight?" she asked him. "I'm always telling you what I want. What do _you_ want?"

He licked his lips. He didn't look in her eyes. He was still looking at her breasts. "Let's uh...let's do that thing you think I'm really good at, and then that thing ya said looked like fun."

So he'd found her markings in the books. "But isn't that what _I_ want to do? What do _you_ want to do?"

He looked up in her eyes finally. "Carol, thing I most want to do is please ya." He pulled her against his chest and whispered in her ear. "Hear ya cum. Hard. 'Fore I do."

She shivered against him. "Okay," she agreed, in a small squeak of a voice.

She let him take the lead tonight. And it _was_ fun. Fun and sexy and so very satisfying. When they're breathing had leveled, she rolled onto her side and draped one of her legs over both of his before settling her head on the hard pillow of his bare chest. She giggled. "That was good."

"Yeah?" he asked. "Ya like that?"

"Very much."

"Beat my old record."

Carol laughed. "Are you keeping track? Are you plotting this all on graphs?"

"Mhmmm..."

"And now you're asleep, aren't you?" she asked, but her only answer was the rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek.


	41. Chapter 41

Carol's eyelids fluttered open in the faint rays of the morning sunrise. She found Daryl crouching, naked, on the bedroom floor, sliding the second to last drawer of the filing cabinet open ever so slowly, in order to make as little noise as possible. For a man who used to go to sleep in his pants in order to be ready for anything, he sure had gotten comfortable sleeping naked these past few nights.

Daryl didn't notice she was awake as he pulled out a pair of boxers and a muscle shirt. Turning toward the closed curtains of the window, he stepped into his underwear. Carol admired his strong thighs and firm ass as the black cotton slid up and over them. She smiled at the way his muscles rippled across his shoulder blades as he pulled the tan shirt on over his head. Next, he slowly dragged his worn, earth-toned Wrangler's off the hanger where she had draped them and worked them up. The snap of his button and the rasp of his zipper sent a tingle through her nerves. She'd never guessed little sounds like that could be an aphrodisiac. He put on his belt next and, buckling it, turned around.

She sat up and placed her hand on the recently clasped buckle to draw him a little closer to the bed.

"Nah ah," he said. "Cain't keep being late."

"Not even a little?" she asked with a teasing smile.

"Damn, woman, who'd of guessed ya'd be so horny all the time?"

She moved her hand from his buckle to his hip. "I do feel kind of like a hormonal teenager," she admitted. "I guess because this is all still so new to me."

"What's new?"

" _Good_ sex."

Daryl had a surprisingly dopey, sweet smile, on those rare occasions when, as now, he let it break out all the way.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'll come to take it for granted eventually, and I won't want it as often." Daryl's smile instantly faded into a straight, stern line. She chuckled. "I'm teasing."

"Maybe ya ain't. Better take what I can get while I can get it." He bent to kiss her and began to push her down onto the bed.

She resisted him with a hand to his chest. "You said you can't be late."

"Changed my mind."

She pushed a little harder, until he obeyed the pressure and stood straight again. "You're a tease," he grumbled.

"It'll give you something to look forward to while you're hunting. Catch me a big buck?"

His tongue snaked out between his lips. "And what do I get if I do?"

"What do you _want_?"

She expected him to be shy and back off his teasing, but instead he said, "Page 27."

"What?"

"Y'll see when ya get dressed. But if ya don't want to, that's fine. Ain't gonna hold you to it, even if I do get a big buck." He bent and kissed her again before slipping through the curtain.

Carol waited until the apartment door shut and then threw off the covers in one violent motion. She stood and began rolling open her drawers. She saw _The Modern Kama Sutra_ resting on top of her panties, pulled it out, and sat back down on the bed. A paper bookmark was resting at page 27, which also bore his handwriting and the question, "Yes or no?"

The drawing depicted a woman being bent over a large desk. Her skirt was still on, but it was all bunched up, and her panties were down around her ankles, while a man took her from behind. Beside the drawing was some textual advice as to how to best perform in the illustrated position. Carol turned her head and looked at the bookcases that divided their room from the study...and from the teacher's desk.

[*]

Henry showed up to the truck on time but clearly hung-over, an unruly, gray-blonde stubble coating his cheeks like moss overtaking a field. No wonder the man shaved so often. "Want me to drive?" Daryl asked.

Henry tossed him the keys. As they were opening their doors, they saw Jason approach another pick-up with two men and throw fishing poles inside. A line in Henry's jaw jumped, and he shuffled into the backseat.

As Daryl started the car, he asked, "If they's fishin' everyday, why ain't we never had fish?" At least, they hadn't in the few days since he'd been in the Kingdom.

"They do not catch much," Al replied from the passenger's seat beside him. "The Potomac is dying. Carol fillets and freezes the daily catch, and we will have a big fish fry soon. We have one once every nine to ten days."

Henry leaned his head against the window and rubbed his eyes. Jakob handed him a Snickers bar. "Good for ze hangover," he said. Henry took it, tore it open, and bit into it like a hungry animal. He sat chewing with his eyes closed and his cheek against the glass.

No one said anything for the next ten minutes of the drive, when Al spoke. "Gloria might change her mind. Or Jason. It might not work."

"It worked for nine years," Henry replied.

"To get over Gloria," Jakob said, "Clara Markwood. Loose woman. One of ze carpenters. Not bad looking."

"What does this term mean, _loose_?" Al asked.

"Easy to bed," Jakob said.

"If you are my friend, why have you never told me about this Clara?" Al asked.

"You are not her type," Jakob replied. "She prefers experienced men."

"And why do you know she is easy to bed?" Al asked. "I do hope you are not cheating on your very pregnant wife."

"Clara came onto me. I did not accept. Alzough it would be nice to get laid for a change."

Henry opened his eyes. "When Leanne was pregnant with John, I think we shagged _once_ during the last eight weeks. And then not at all for two months after he was born. Then it was spotty for the next year or two."

"Year or two?" Jakob exclaimed.

"But then it gets better," Henry reassured him. "By the time the kid is preschool age, you're usually back in the saddle."

"Preschool age!" Jakob repeated, with a look of horror crossing his dark brown eyes.

Al chuckled.

"Don't get Carol pregnant," Jakob warned Daryl.

"Cain't," Daryl said. "She's been tied." He immediately regretted sharing what might have been something Carol though of as personal information.

"Lucky you," Jakob said.

"One day that baby is going to grab hold of your finger," Henry said, sitting up straighter, his head no longer against the window, "and it will be like it's grabbed hold of your heart. And you'll never be the same again. And you won't want to be." He gritted his teeth, turned, and looked out the window. "I've lost _everything_ now. My son and the only two women I've ever loved."

"You have us," Al said.

Jakob gave a warning shake of his head in Al's direction. "Zat is not what he wants to hear."

"What _do_ you want to hear?" Al asked.

"Clara you say?" Henry asked. "I can't picture her. Isn't she with that man from Daryl's camp now? Tobith?"

"Tobin," Daryl said. "That's Shannon."

"Clara's the blonde." Jakob clarified. "A little on ze plump side, but nice tits. Her ass is not bad eizer."

"That is crass," Al said. "You should be more respectful toward women."

Jakob leaned forward between the seats and smirked. "How is zat Women's Study diploma doing for you in ze Apocalypse?"

Al rolled his eyes. "You know I pursued International Studies. And what good does your finance degree do you now?"

"I was zinking of starting a Royal Stock Exchange."

Henry, to Daryl's surprise and relief, laughed.

[*]

Henry and Daryl hiked east while Jakob and Al went west. Daryl did most of the tracking today, while Henry simply followed him, intermittently rubbing his forehead. They'd hiked silently for about a mile between the trees, intent on the sign of deer, when Henry finally spoke. "Sorry for acting like such an ass last night. Tell Carol I'm sorry for destroying her rug."

"She don't care." Daryl dropped to his haunches and cleared the earth of leaves.

"Sorry I tried to tackle you."

"Is that what ya was doin'?" Daryl stood and walked on.

"You're something of a brick though. Did you ever play football in high school?"

"No." Zach had asked him that, a lifetime ago. Actually, Beth's boyfriend had asked if he had been a football coach. The farm, the prison, Alexandria, the Kingdom...how many camps would he have, Daryl wondered, before it was safe to call any place home?

"I was on my high school team when we lived in Canada," Henry said. "Before I moved to Australia. I was very talented at keeping the bench warm."

"Look at this." Daryl pointed to the deer tracks branching out in two separate directions.

"Looks like something spooked them." Henry dropped down and examined a very light print in the dirt. "What does that look like to you?"

"Ya got mountain lions here?" Daryl asked skeptically.

"There were rumours that eastern cougars were making a comeback in the Blue Ridge, but I've never heard of them around here. And that's not what this is. Take a closer look."

Daryl squatted down next to him. He lay a twig across the width of the print.

"See how it's less rounded than most cat prints?" Henry swept his finger in the air above the outline.

"What the hell is it?" Daryl asked.

"My guess? Cheetah."

"From the zoo?"

Henry nodded. "A lion survived. We killed it three months ago. Why not a cheetah? Though this is the first I've seen sign of one." They both stood and looked cautiously around. Daryl loaded and readied his bow, and Henry slid his rifle off his shoulder and cocked it.

"This trail goes west," Henry said. "In the same direction Jakob and Al went."

They began to follow the deer tracks west, which were clearer, though they saw a cheetah print every now and then along the way.

"Good thing I have my safari hat." Henry patted his head.

"Don't think that's gonna help. Why do ya wear that anyway?"

"So I'm not always squinting into the sun like you're doing now," Henry told him.

"Well it looks ridiculous."

"So does squinting. Besides, Gloria likes the hat. It makes her laugh." Henry winced, as if he'd forgotten, for a brief second, that Gloria wasn't his anymore. They followed the tracks in silence for half a mile, relaxing as time wore on, but still looking around regularly.

They made their way down a damp embankment, Daryl slipping and sliding the last few inches on his ass until his boot hit the gravely shore by the creek. Henry made his way down more carefully, but not without also muddying himself. There was a deer print on the shore, and a cheetah print, and across the creek, more. They splashed through the shallow water. It seeped through Daryl's pants and was cold against his lower leg above his boots.

As they followed the trail along the shore and then climbed up a much shorter, rolling embankment back into the woods, Henry began to talk again. "You think I should shag that Clara woman?"

"She sounds like a real peach. Comin' on to a pregnant woman's husband."

"So you think I shouldn't?"

"Think you should do whatever the hell ya want," Daryl said, "but it ain't gonna make ya feel better 'bout Gloria."

"They say the best way to get over an old love is to find a new love."

"Fuckin' ain't lovin'," Daryl said.

"Are you an expert at both?" Henry asked.

The truth was, Daryl had never fucked a woman. Carol was his first, and he loved her. They'd been _making love_. He supposed that would shock Henry to know. Daryl _wanted_ to fuck Carol, though. Not that he didn't enjoy making love to her - because he certainly did - but some time, he would like to just _fuck_ her - be completely in charge - take her raw and nasty and hard. But he didn't know if she'd want that, especially after being in an abusive relationship. Maybe he shouldn't have suggested page 27. Maybe she'd take one look at that and cringe.

 _Shit._ Why had he put that damn bookmark on that page, and then told her he _wanted_ to do that? He shouldn't have done that. What the hell had he been -

A sharp, high-pitched scream erupted from somewhere in the forest, followed by a muffled rifle shot and then another scream.

"That was Jakob," Henry said, and, his hang-over forgotten, broke into a swift run through the trees.

Daryl struggled to keep up.


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N:** _Thank you for the continued comments._

[*]

Henry followed the sound of the scream, and Daryl followed Henry, until they broke into a clearing in the forest, where they found Jakob stomach down on the earth, his pants torn at the ankles and lower legs and and growing black with blood. A cheetah hissed as it circled and snapped at Al, who kept trying to stab at it with his spear.

Henry and Daryl shot at the same time. The cat took off, with an arrow and a bullet in its side, running first at an amazing speed, but then slowing, staggering, falling, and crawling. Al pursued it, finishing it off with more force than was probably necessary, stabbing wildly with his spear, while Henry and Daryl rushed to Jakob. Blood was seeping out from underneath him, so they rolled him over to investigate, and found his rifle, the barrel still hot, beneath his chest. Jakob's eyes were dull and unfocused, but he was still alive and groaning. His shirt was soaked with blood. Henry ripped it open to discover a wound in his stomach.

"He shot himself?" Daryl asked.

"Looks like," Henry replied. "He must have been preparing to shoot something else when the cheetah tripped him from behind and he fell on the rifle."

Al returned and began rummaging through his knapsack for a first aid kit. "The cheetah seemed rabid," he said.

"They don't usually attack humans like that," Henry agreed.

Al pulled the kit from his pack. "I was several feet ahead when I heard the gun go off."

Henry was grabbing alcohol and gauze from his own pack now.

"That will not do." Al said. "We need more cloth."

Daryl tossed Al his red bandanna. Then he threw off his leather vest and yanked his t-shirt over his head. Al grabbed it from his hand.

Henry said, "We can't get the truck in here. I'll run back for the drag sled. We can carry him out on that."

"Like a dead animal?" Al asked.

"What else can we do?" Henry left his pack, took only his rifle, and ran.

While Al poured rubbing alcohol on his hunting knife and went to work digging the bullet out of Jakob's stomach, Daryl gave the groaning man a twig to bite down on and then prepared a tourniquet for his deeply clawed and bleeding lower leg.

Al worked swiftly. "Ya done this before," Daryl said.

"In war."

"What war?" Al hadn't fought against the Saviors. He'd stayed behind to hunt for the Kingdom.

"There was always war in my country. They made me a soldier when I was fourteen. But I escaped that world. Or so I thought." Al pulled out a piece of shrapnel and tossed it aside. "The rest of the bullet is too deep. I can't risk digging it out with a mere knife. We must get him back to the Kingdom, quickly, or he will bleed out."

Al took off his own shirt after using Daryl's. He applied pressure while Jakob screamed. "Medical tape," he said and nodded to his pack. Daryl found it. They used the entire roll to secure the shirt and try to stem the bleeding. "Vodka," Al said, and Daryl found the bottle in Al's pack.

Daryl crouched beside Jakob and put the bottle to his lips.

"Drink up," Al ordered as Jakob gurgled and turned away. "For the pain, brother," Al told him. "Drink up."

"Listen," Jakob murmured, breathing out his words between rasps. "I zink I will die."

"You will not die," Al assured him, and put a dark hand on his light olive brow. "Henry is getting the sled. We will get you back to the doctor. He is a good doctor. You will not die."

"Too much blood. I zink the bullet hit my liver. Still bleeding."

"It looks worse than it is," Al insisted.

"Tell Rivka I love her. Take care of her, yes? Be a brother to her. Be an uncle to my child."

"You are not dying!" Al insisted, his voice cracking.

"Promise me."

"Jakob, you are not dying."

Jakob grabbed Al by the wrist. "Promise me. You will take care of Rivka, yes?"

"Yes, yes, yes." Al nodded. With his free hand he wiped at his eyes.

"Only take care of her," Jakob said. "Do not try to fuck her."

Al laughed through his tears. "Even you could not succeed lately. How could I?"

Jakob smiled faintly and closes his eyes. Al put an ear to his mouth to check if he was still breathing.

"Think he just passed out," Daryl said.

When Henry returned, they dragged Jakob through the forest on the sled, lifting him between the three of them when necessary to get through the trees. Henry had moved the truck closer, as close as he could get it into the forest. Jakob was paler when they put him in the bed of the pick-up, slick with sweat, unconscious, but still breathing.

Henry insisted on driving. When they tore up to the gates of the Kingdom, they were planning to shout for the buses to be moved so they could drive the pick-up inside, through the courtyard, and toward the infirmary, but the buses had already been parted so the fishermen could bring in their haul from the Potomac.

"My God," Al said in surprise as Jason and the other two fisherman pulled out a net full of fish. "Three times the usual catch. Jason must be good."

Henry gunned the engine of the pick-up, swerved past Jason, and got as close to the infirmary door as he could before stopping. An armed palace guard, no doubt wondering at the breach of protocol, chased them on foot.

When they stopped the pick-up and began to slide Jakob from the bed, they were surrounded by the guard and three knights. "Cheetah attack," Henry explained. "Accidental gun shot. Jakob."

They all went into action to help. Jakob was semi-conscious again, muttering, and groaning profusely when they settled him on a table in the infirmary. The doctor forced the huntsmen into the hall, where they remained awaiting news.

After a couple of minutes, footsteps came tearing around a corner of the hallway - Gloria running in their direction. "Henry!" she cried, and threw her arms around him. Startled, he encircled her with his arms for a second, but then dropped them to his side.

She stepped away from him, as though realizing what she'd done. "I heard a huntsman had been mauled by a lion. I was afraid it was you."

"A cheetah," Henry said, "And it was Jakob."

"How is he?"

Henry put his hands on his hips and looked at the ground. "Not well. He accidentally shot himself, too."

"He will live," Al insisted. "He is my best friend, and he will live."

More footsteps tore through the hall, Carol this time, letting out a great sob of relief when she saw Daryl, standing shirtless and alive, in the hall. She embraced him, and he pulled her close against his chest for a moment before letting her go. "It's Jakob," he told her.

Gloria leaned back against the wall.

"Are you staying?" Henry asked.

"You might lose a friend today," she said.

"You can't comfort me if I do. Go. Be with your husband. He's the one who caught us dinner." Henry spat, "The fine fisherman."

Gloria put a hand lightly on his hand. "It was not an easy choice, Henry. I didn't simply stop caring about you."

He moved his hand away. "Jason wouldn't like you here with me. You made your choice. Go."

Gloria shook her head. "Jakob is my friend, too."

She leaned back against the wall again just as the doctor's assistant burst through open the door. "Anyone here have type O blood?"

Daryl had no idea what his blood type was.

"I do," Gloria replied.

"Will you give to him?" the assistant asked, and, when she nodded, he ushered her inside.

Al began to pace the hall. Henry rested with his shoulder against the cinder block wall. Daryl glanced through the small window of the infirmary, where he could see nothing but a flurry of activity from the doctor and his assistant - until the back of a blue coat blocked the window. Carol put a hand gently on the small of his bare back.

"What is this," came a slightly accented voice, "a Chip N' Dale convention?" The all turned to see Jakob's wife, waddling her way slowly toward them, a hand on her protruding, pregnant belly. She looked from Al's naked chest to Daryl's.

Al walked straight to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Rivka, the doctor is doing everything he can," he assured her.

"About what?" she asked.

"Jakob," Al said with disbelief.

"Jakob?"

"You are not here because you heard?" he asked.

"I'm here because..." she glanced down at the water running down her legs.

Al took a step back, away from the puddle that was forming below.

"I sent for the midwife an hour ago. They cannot find her. My contractions are very close now. So I have come to the doctor myself."

"How can you be u so calm?" Carol asked.

"Contractions are nothing, compared to what I have been through in the past." She bent over, and made a low whine as she rode the wave of one. Al steadied her. She stood straight again. "Why? What is wrong with Jakob?"

Al let out a long, shaky sigh.


	43. Chapter 43

The baby came fast, but Gloria's blood couldn't come fast enough - not to compensate for the hemorrhaging of Jakob's wound. Jakob held on to life just long enough to see and hear his son, and to touch, with one unsteady finger, the soft skin of that newborn life.

Gloria remained in the infirmary with Rivka after the birth. Al took Jakob's body on a gurney to be prepared for burial. Daryl and Henry left to dig his grave. Carol went on to the kitchen to prepare the food for what would now become a memorial banquet. The royal page blew his trumpet from the gazebo and announced the death.

Daryl and Henry dug largely in silence, joined eventually by Al, who brought the body in a simple, closed pine box on a cart, saying, "The carpenters threw it together, but Rivka says simplicity is their tradition. She wants him buried as quickly as possible."

The men drove the shovels into the earth with the same violence Al had used to drive his spear into the cheetah. When the grave was just deep enough, they crawled out and went to shower. Daryl already had his black button-down shirt, but he borrowed a pair of black slacks from Henry. He had to roll up the bottoms slightly.

They returned to the graveside. Al pushed the still-recovering mother in a wheelchair. Rivka looked exhausted as she held her newborn baby cradled in her arms. She had named the boy Ben-oni, which meant "son of my sorrow."

Carol took Daryl's hand by the graveside as the funeral began. There was only a small crowd of about thirty for the actual burial - those Rivka wanted to come - including King Ezekiel, who stood in solemn silence, his wild dreadlocks seeming to stand at attention like Medusa's snakes.

Rivka handed the baby to Gloria. Daryl took a startled step back when Jakob's widow let out a great, wailing sob and made a show of rending her outer garments. He'd never seen anything quite like it, though once he'd been to a funeral, when he was about three, and watched his Nana Earlene walk up to the open casket and slap his Grandpa Clarence's dead body straight across the face, while screaming, "Womanizer! Got what you deserved!" Daryl's pa had risen from the front pew and pulled his mama away from the casket, while Daryl's own mama muttered, "She always was a drama queen" and Merle laughed. At least, Merle had laughed until their pa sat down beside them again and gave him the deadliest glare, after which Merle fell nervously silent.

"It's a mourning tradition," Carol whispered to him, and he drew his eyes from the widow and back to the grave.

Al intoned the 23rd Psalm as he and Henry lowered the coffin into the grave with ropes. When the crowd disbursed, Daryl stayed to help cover the casket with the cold earth.

[*]

The subjects of the Kingdom entered the banquet hall more solemnly than usual tonight. The widow came, rolled in her wheelchair by Al, in an untorn black frock this time, Ben-oni again in her arms, sleeping bundled in a soft blanket.

Henry took a seat beside Daryl, who was sitting next to Carol and across from Michonne. "Mind if I join you?" he whispered, nodding to his usual table, where Al sat with Rivka, Gloria, and Jason.

"Course not," Daryl muttered.

After the food was served, the roar of the tiger pierced the cafeteria and silenced what very little chatter there was. King Ezekiel rose and declared, "As you all know, a great light has gone out in the Kingdom. We have lost one of our huntsmen, who has helped to keep the Kingdom well fed almost since its founding. Today, we mourn the loss of Jakob Breslow, and we remember his life." He then invited anyone who wished to speak to do so. Al took the stage first and cleared his throat. His speech was brief and heartfelt. Henry took the stage next and told a couple of stories about hunting with Jakob that had the banquet hall laughing. A few other people Daryl didn't know spoke, though the widow remained seated.

When the dinner plates were cleared, Judith pounded the table and yelled, "Cay cay cay cay cay-ake!"

Carl shushed her. "No dessert tonight."

Judith stuck out her tongue and blew a raspberry.

[*]

Carol left the supervision of the kitchen clean-up to her assistant tonight so that she could be with Daryl. When they returned to the apartment, Daryl ripped off his boots and tossed them. They smashed against the wall. Carol closed the door quietly behind them and watched as Daryl kicked the coffee table with his blackened sock. The legs of the table scraped an inch or two across the tile. He paced across the room and thrust apart the red curtains that closed off the study.

Carol followed him cautiously and found him looking at the desk as though he wanted to throw every object off of it. There wasn't much to throw off, however - a pad and a pencil and a cook book, all neatly stacked in one corner. So instead he threw himself down into the desk chair, which rolled backward a couple of inches.

Carol, who was wearing a black, knee-length skirt and dark top, turned to face him. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the desk. "Is there anything I can do?" she asked, playing the calm to his storm.

"'Bout what?"

"You just lost a friend. You're clearly upset."

"I'm fine. Barely knew 'em." Daryl grunted each word as if they were bricks he was slapping together to build a protective wall. "We rode in a truck together a few times. Didn't even hunt with 'em most days."

"You lost _something_ , Daryl." She uncrossed her arms, took a step forward, and put a hand over his hand, which was resting on his knee. "And you're allowed to be upset."

He slid his hand out from beneath hers, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her close. He rested his head just below her breasts. Daryl wasn't crying, but his breathing was a bit uneven. She stroked his hair, bent to kiss the top of his head, and simply held him. After awhile, he pulled away, rolling the chair back slightly as he did so. "Just thought maybe we were done losing people is all. Thought that was the point of this place." He lay his hands on the arms of the chair and sighed.

Carol put a hand on his cheek. "What do you need from me? I want to help."

"Don't even want to think 'bout it tonight," he said. "That's what I want. Not to think 'bout it."

She took a step backward, until her lower back was pressed against the desk. She set a hand hesitantly on the surface. "Would page 27 help you not to think about it?"

Daryl blinked. "Ya serious?"

"If it would help. But if you'd rather watch a movie, or just be alone, or -"

"- Nah. It'd help." A heavy breath of air escaped him, a sound somewhere between desire and laughter. "Ya _want_ to? Don't want ya to agree just to distract me."

She looked down at the desk, away from him, and nodded. "I want to."

Daryl stood suddenly, grabbed her by the hips, and turned her around. His breath was hot on her neck as he kissed and nipped at it. He took both her hands in one of his and pressed them to the desktop. His other hand slid over the back of her silky blouse, over her ass, and down to the hem of her skirt...

[*]

Daryl, still panting, stumbled back, pulled his pants and boxers up to his waist, and collapsed into the chair, the buckle of his loose belt clanging against the arm as he did so. He watched Carol slide up the panties he'd ripped down to just below her knees. She smoothed her skirt, turned around, and, breathing heavily but steadily, casually buttoned the shirt he'd pulled open. The third button was missing, having popped off, skidded across the desk, and landed somewhere on the floor. She climbed into his lap, curled herself up, and rested her head in the crook of his neck.

Daryl slid his arms around her. His chest continued to rise and fall as he recovered. "I too rough?" he asked finally.

"No. I liked it."

He thought she'd cum, but the truth was, he'd been a little too lost in his own pleasure to pay much attention to hers. "Ya sure?"

"Mhm. Wasn't it obvious?" Carol kissed his cheek and settled her head against his shoulder. They sat quietly for a long time.

"Ya...like that kind of sex?" he asked skeptically. "I wasn't uh...real attentive."

She pulled away from him to look into his eyes. She stroked the hair at the back of his head as she answered. "I want it sometimes. Not all the time. Not even most of the time. But sometimes."

"How do I know when ya want it like that and when ya don't?"

She shrugged and smiled, that sweet smile he'd come to love. "Just do what you're going to do, and I'll tell you to stop if I don't want you to."

"And ya won't be upset that I tried it?" he asked.

"No." She pressed her forehead to his and kissed him.

"Hmhm," he murmured when she pulled away. "Simple."

"I'm not complicated," she told him. "Not like you."

He snorted. "I ain't the least bit complicated."

"You're much more complicated than you know." She slid off his lap and stood. "Think I'm going to go take a shower and get changed for bed."

As she parted the curtain, he said, "Carol?"

"Yes."

"Thank ya. Than ya for knowin' what I needed."

She smiled and slipped through the veil.


	44. Chapter 44

That night, for a rare change, Carol fell asleep first. Daryl couldn't. He lay with his arm around her for awhile, and then he lay on his back with his arms behind his head, staring up at the faint moonlight dancing on the stucco tile of the ceiling. Finally, he slid quietly out of bed and pulled on his clothes. He shut the door of the apartment gently. Just as quietly, he exited the building and began walking in the courtyard in the moonlight. A palace guard stopped him to ask him his "business."

"My business ain't none of yers."

"Quiet hours have begun," the guard replied.

"I ain't exactly raisin' a ruckus."

"Just state your bus - "

"- Marcus," Sasha interrupted the guard, approaching with an AR-10 in her hand. "Let him be. Can't you see he's just taking a walk? It's been a rough night for him."

Marcus nodded and headed back toward the wall.

Sasha shouldered her gun. "Sorry for your loss," she said. "It was a loss for the whole Kingdom."

"Mhmh."

"Al and Henry are in the gazebo, if you were looking for them. Just...if you can...try to keep it down. I know you hate the rules, but quiet hours are out of respect for ev - "

"- When am I ever loud?"

"I mean, keep _them_ quiet if you can. They've been drinking." As if to accent her point, Al's deep laugh drifted to where they stood, followed by some kind of whoop from Henry. "Marcus is getting ready to issue a citation."

"What happens when they get a citation?"

"They have to see the big man and get a lecture. And then if it happens again, they lose rations."

"Mhm."

"Daryl, every town has laws."

"Didn't say nothin'. Ya like dinin' with the Council now?"

She took a step forward and lowered her voice. "My loyalty is to my people - you, Rick, Michonne, Eugene, Carol, Carl, Judith. Don't ever doubt that. But we've got a decent thing going here, and I've got influence. Don't expect me to jeopardize that."

He nodded and made his way to the gazebo, where Al and Henry were sitting on one of the benches and passing between themselves the bottle of vodka Jakob would not drink from as he lay in the woods. It had been full when Daryl put it to Jakob's lips. It was now four-fifths empty. Al extended it to Daryl, who swigged, sat down on the bench, and returned the bottle. "Y'all got to keep it down," Daryl told them, "or yer gonna get spanked by the King."

"I wish Sasha administered the spankings," Al said, and his laugh rumbled in his chest. He looked at Daryl, his large brown eyes lowered penitently. "Forgive my crassness. I know she is your friend."

Henry snickered. "She _is_ quite fit. And she's about your age, too, Al. But I think she's caught the King's fancy. A lowly huntsmen such as yourself can't expect to compete with a _king_. Hell, I can't even compete with a _fisherman_."

"You have not attempted to compete," Al told him.

Henry leaned back against the wood planks of the gazebo wall. "What does that mean?" He sipped and passed the vodka over Al to Daryl.

Daryl sipped and said, "Well, ya did let 'er go without a fight."

"A fight? What am I suppose to do? Beat Jason bloody? For what? Being a decent man who loves his wife and searched for her for eight months?"

"Nah, not a _fight_ fight," Daryl said. "Just..."

"You did not make your case," Al finished for him, taking the bottle Daryl extended. "You simply watched her walk away."

"What _case?_ She knows I love her, that I want her. And she's made her choice." He took the bottle after Al sipped. "Thinking of shagging that carpenter tomorrow. Clara. In honor of Jakob, you know." Henry tilted the bottle back against his lips.

"Do not do it," Al warned. He passed the bottle from Henry to Daryl without sipping. Daryl finished off the last ounce and then set the bottle down under the bench.

"Why not?" Henry asked.

"Sounds like she's been 'round the block a few times," Daryl said. "Might have somethin'."

"Rubbers, Daryl," Henry said. "They're a marvelous invention."

Al opened the knapsack sitting on the floor of the gazebo and pulled out a bottle of Peppermint Schnapps.

"Where did you get all this alcohol?" Henry asked. "I thought you Muslims didn't drink."

"Yes, well that is why I have so much left. I can only sin a little at a time." The cap cracked as Al turned it to break the seal. "I cleaned out the liquor cabinet at the embassy where Jakob and Rivka and I were hiding out that first month after the collapse."

"Daryl, first swig?" Henry asked. "Since you were late to the party?"

"I ain't drinkin' no damn Peppermint Schnapps."

"You prefer peach?" Henry asked.

Daryl bent forward with his elbows on his knees. He couldn't help but think of Beth and that day they went in search of her first drink. There had been so many deaths, but Beth's had been the hardest for him, if you didn't count that time he _thought_ Carol was dead. Beth was like an emblem of innocence - of hope, of goodness, of possibility - light in a dark world, and she'd just been snuffed out. Her death was like the final bar on an iron cage - it told him they were trapped in this grim world, and there would never be light.

But then there _was_ light...here, in this bizarre, frustrating Kingdom, there was light. There was Carol's love for him, her warm body in his bed, food, fire, shelter, and friendship. Jakob had died, but he hadn't been killed by walkers, or slain by roving gangs of evil men. He'd died in one of the perfectly ordinary ways people died in the old world - by a freak accident, falling on his own gun. And he'd been mourned properly, with a funeral and a memorial banquet and prayer and his widow weeping at his graveside, holding his infant son, a sign that life would press on, was pressing on, here in this strange oasis.

Daryl sat up. "Hand me the damn Schnapps. I'll drink it in honor of Jakob."

"Thatta boy!" Henry said, and Al passed him the bottle.

Daryl took a long swig, hissed, grimaced, and handed the bottle to Al, who sipped and passed it to Henry.

"Jakob was right," Henry said. "I walked by the wood shop today, and Clara _does_ have nice tits."

"Do not do it," Al warned again.

"Why not?" Henry sipped and passed the bottle to Al. " _Neither_ of you has given me a valid reason not to yet."

"Gloria'll find out." Daryl took the bottle from Al. "And then she won't respect ya." He sipped and passed. "And even if ya cain't have her love, ya still want her respect."

"Fuck it all," Henry muttered, and took the bottle from Al. "You had to come up with a good reason, didn't you?"

"Wait it out," Al said. "I sat with Gloria and Jason these last two nights at the banquets. She is trying. She wants to do the right thing by him, because he was her husband for nine years. But there _is_ a distance between them. I have seen it. She may yet change her mind."

"I just thought of something brilliant!" Henry exclaimed, pointing the bottle at Al. "I could become Gloria's _other man._ That would be excellent. All of the shagging and none of the nagging!"

Al laughed and took the bottle back from Henry. "You know Gloria would not do that. But she _may_ leave him for you, if you are patient."

"She isn't going to leave him for me. He came back from the dying Potomac with a truck load of fish. I came back from the Royal Forest with a dying man. I really should just shag Clara. I'm not going to do any better."

"Damn, man!" Daryl exclaimed. "Just keep it in yer goddamn pants for at least another week or two."

"Easy for you to say. You're probably getting it good every night."

Daryl didn't feel the annoyance or embarrassment he would usually feel at a comment like that. Instead, he felt a hint of pride. He smiled and shrugged and reached across Al for the Schnapps.

"It's always like that in the beginning," Henry added.

The bottle made a sucking sound as Daryl pulled it from his lips. "Wait. What do ya mean, in the beginnin'?"

Henry chuckled. "You know how it goes. They're hot an heavy for the first few months, and then it's once or twice a week after that, if you're lucky. You've done this before, right? You do know that's how relationships go?"

"Um. Yeah. Sure." Daryl sipped the Schnapps again and said, "This shit is goddamn awful." But then he took another sip.

"Tastes like Christmas," Henry replied, and took it from him. "To Jakob," he said raising the bottle.

"To Jakob," Al and Daryl echoed.

They talked and passed the bottle until it was empty. Al was in the worst shape when it was gone. To save themselves from having to walk too far, Henry and Daryl carried Al to Henry's portable and threw him on the mattress. "I'll take the floor I guess," Henry said, and began to make a nest of blankets for himself.

Daryl held onto the rail tightly as he made his way carefully down the steps from the deck of the portable, and then he weaved his way back to the apartment.

[*]

A loud, clanging thud awoke Carol. Daryl shouted, "Ow!" He'd apparently slammed into the filing cabinet. The bed shifted as he plopped down hard on his ass. She could hear him struggling to pull off his boots, which hit the filing cabinet with another clang when he tossed them. She rolled over. "What's going on?" she asked. "Have you been out?"

He rolled into bed, working his way with frustration under the covers, trying to kick his way in. "Yeah."

"Where? Doing what?"

"Just talkin' to Al and Henry." He rolled on his side and kissed her.

He tasted like mint and alcohol. She pulled back and crinkled her nose. "Have you been drinking? Are you drunk?"

"Little bit," he said. He slid a hand down over her hip and to the hem of her nightshirt. "Hey, ya wanna fuck?"

"No, I don't. Not while you're drunk. And I don't really like it when you put it like that." She rolled over onto her side, away from him, to emphasize her refusal. Ed had come home drunk too many nights, and he'd never been tender when he was drunk. The one mercy was that he had never gotten far before he passed out.

Daryl's arm settled around her waist, and for a moment she was afraid he was going to just start blindly and roughly groping her breasts, the way Ed had so often done when drunk, but instead he just lay there, making a light humming sound, almost as if he was singing to himself. It made her giggle.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"Are you singing?"

"Dunno."

She rolled to face him.

"Sorry," he said. "I won't ask to fuck no more."

"I just don't like the _phrasing_. I like the _actual_ fucking."

He chuckled. "Ya just said a bad word."

She smiled.

"I like fuckin' ya," he said. "Like makin' love, too." He kissed her forehead. "I love ya, ya know."

"I know," Carol said.

"Let's get married."

"What?"

"Married," he repeated. "Like...uh...husband and wife and all that shit. Why the fuck not? Sorry. Didn't mean to say fuck."

She laughed. "You're really drunk. You don't know what you're saying."

"Know exactly what the fuck I'm saying. Fuck, sorry, didn't mean to say fuck. Let's get married tomorrow. Sign the dumb ass record book. Henry and Al can witness it. Or Rick and Michonne. Sasha and Gloria. Whoever ya want. Henry says we just need two signatures to make it legal. Then I can just call ya my wife. That'd be easier."

"You want to marry me because it would be _easier_?" she asked.

"Yeah. Then I'd know what to call ya. And all the men would know ya's mine. It'd say so. In the book. Carol's mine. Cain't nobody else have her."

"Is this a proposal, then?" she asked. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

"Hell yeah."

She kissed his nose and rolled over again. "Go to sleep. Ask me again when you're sober. If you even remember this conversation."

He was silent. That lasted a minute before he broke out into a loud, chainsaw-like snore. Carol slid from bed, took her pillow and the extra blanket that was folded at the foot of the bed, and headed to curl up on the love seat. When the snoring penetrated the curtain and drifted to the living room, she went to the study, opened the dresser drawer, and pulled out the earplugs she used while shooting on the range. She rolled the soft, orange foam and wedged them in her ears before returning to the love seat.


	45. Chapter 45

The alarm sounded like a siren echoing in a well. Daryl clawed himself slowly awake and slammed down on the snooze button with one hand. He did it again ten minutes later. Ten minutes after that, he finally turned off the alarm and swung his legs out of bed. Damn but his head hurt. He turned to apologize to Carol for the three-time alarm, but she wasn't in bed beside him.

He found her sleeping on the living room couch. Had they had a fight last night? If they had, shouldn't **_he_** be the one on the couch? He didn't know a lot about relationships, but he never heard of the _woman_ ending up on the couch. Daryl figured he better not wake her, because if she was mad, being woken up would only make her angrier. He grabbed a granola bar and a Caprisun from the pantry, retrieved his bow and quiver, and left the apartment sipping his juice box like a preschooler.

He had the stale granola bar consumed by the time he made it to the wall. Sasha, who was finishing up her night shift, was coming down the ladder. Henry and Al were there, waiting for her to open the gates.

"You look lovely today," Al told her.

Sasha laughed. "In my flak vest?"

"It matches your eyes."

"Well, it's black and my eyes are brown."

"It darkens them," Al tried.

"Sasha," Henry said. "Thank you for keeping Marcus at bay last night with his little citation pad. We needed to let off some steam."

"I understand," she said, and patted his shoulder. "You've lost a lot. Shake off that hangover and bring us a deer today, would you? I hate fish."

Henry tipped his safari hat to her. "We'll see what we can do."

Sasha nodded to Daryl as she passed him to swing the gate open. The huntsmen eased their way through the school buses to the outer parking lot, where Henry took the driver's seat in the truck. Daryl felt strange sliding into the back seat without Jakob occupying the space beside him. He'd rarely spoken to the man, but now he noticed his absence keenly. Al glanced in the rear view mirror at the empty spot and then looked out the window.

After they'd been driving for quite awhile, Al tuned to Henry. "Why did you flirt with her when you know I like her?"

"What?" Henry asked. "With whom?"

"Sasha," he said.

"I wasn't flirting with her, and she's not the least bit interested in either of us."

Daryl leaned against the window and rubbed his forehead.

"She put a hand on your shoulder," Al said. "That is something women do when they are interested in a man."

"And you know this from your many years of experience as a Casanova?" Henry asked. "It's also something they do when they feel sympathy for you because your wife has dumped you and one of your closest friends has just died."

"Answer me honestly," Al said. "Do you think she is attractive?"

"Of course I think she's attractive," Henry said. " _Objectively_ speaking."

Memories of the previous night were beginning to resurface in Daryl's mind. He was piecing together his conversation with Carol bit by bit.

"Attraction is not _objective_ ," Al said.

"It has an objective element," Henry insisted. "For instance, Sasha is in excellent physical shape. That's an objective fact. Her face has a certain appealing symmetry - again, purely objective. Her breasts are - "

"Fuck!" Daryl muttered.

"Sorry," Henry said. "I won't make any further such observations about your friend."

"Nah," Daryl said. "Just realized...think I proposed to Carol last night when I's drunk."

Henry smiled. "Proposed? As in, you proposed _marriage_?"

"Think so. 'Cept...cain't 'member if she said yes or no."

Both huntsmen laughed from the front seat.

"Do you wish you had not?" Al asked as Henry navigated off the highway and onto a grassy strip to get around some abandoned cars. "Do you not wish to marry her?"

"Of course he wants to marry her," Henry said. "You don't say things you don't believe when you're drunk. You just say things you're afraid to say when you're sober."

Daryl massaged his forehead. "Shit," he muttered.

"What's the worse that happens?" Henry said. "She said no? I doubt she's gong to dump you over merely asking."

"But I don't _know_ what she said," Daryl said.

"Ask her again," Al suggested. "Then you will know."

"That _does_ seem the simplest course of action," Henry agreed.

"Get down on one knee," Al told him. "Women like that."

"I took Gloria on a picnic in the courtyard and put the ring in a muffin," Henry told him. "Of course, she almost swallowed it, so I don't recommend that. She also dumped me for another man, which possibly draws the success of my methods into question."

"But she _did_ say yes," Al observed.

"Yes. So did Leanne, and she stayed married to me until the day she died. I made that proposal on a rowboat. I was so nervous I nearly dropped the ring in the lake." Henry pulled the truck to the stop at their usual spot several yards beyond the Nature Center's parking lot. When they were gathering their gear from the bed of the pick-up, he said to Daryl, "Gloria returned her engagement ring to me. It was Leanne's. You can have it if you like for when you propose again. It's not as if I can pawn it in this world."

Daryl shook his head. "What if Carol said no? Cain't ask again if she already said no. I'd make a goddamn fool of myself."

"What if she said yes and she's expecting a ring?" Henry replied.

The three began walking into the forest. "Don't think Carol would want a ring."

Henry snorted. "You're deluded if you think that. All women want a ring."

"Ain't no point here," Daryl said. "Get in the way when she's target shooting anyhow."

Henry clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Come back to my portable after we hunt and get the ring. Just in case. Trust me on this."

"Wish I could remember everythin' she said last night," Daryl muttered. "She was on the couch this mornin'."

"Oh, that is not good." Al clucked and shook his head. "She must have said no."

"Daryl was probably just snoring," Henry said. "Why would she say no?"

"Maybe 'cause I ain't exacly marriage material." Daryl stopped walking and shot a rabbit that was hopping across their path. He pulled out his arrow, tied it up by its feet, and slung it from the rope over his shoulder before walking on.

"Don't be absurd," Henry said. "You're in her bed. I'm willing to wager Carol's standards for letting a man into her bed are no lower than her standards for marrying him."

"Hmm," Daryl mused. She'd lived with Tobin for a little while, but it was true she hadn't had _sex_ with him. She'd been a virgin when she married Ed.

Al leaped forward and speared another passing rabbit. "It is not even spring," he said. "And they're breeding like…."

"Rabbits?" Daryl asked.

Al chuckled. Henry pointed out another, but he wasn't going to waste the sound of a gunshot on it. A soft woosh sounded from Daryl's bow, and the rabbit stopped running. Daryl retrieved his arrow and the animal.

"Rabbit stew tonight, I imagine," Henry said.

"Sasha wants a deer," Al reminded him.

"Then we'll get Sasha a deer," Henry said. "But don't expect her clothes to fall off when we do."

"I have no such expectations," Al said. "I just want to please her."

They came across the carcass of the cheetah being feasted on by two walkers in running clothes. Al stabbed one while Daryl put an arrow in the head of another.

"To think," Henry said, "they were just running together in Rock Creek Park one day, and now this. What were you two doing when it got bad?"

"I was leaving my embassy," Al said, "and suddenly people were screaming outside the office, running about. I had heard the rumors, seen the news reports, but I hadn't seen one with my own eyes. Then, all at once, they were _everywhere_. One hour they weren't, and the next hour they were. I was fleeing a herd of the creatures through the streets when I met Jakob. He yelled for me to follow him, and I did - into the Israeli embassy. He shut the gate. Rivka was there already, and a few others. We hid out there for a month before the power stopped working, and then another month before the water stopped flowing and we ran out of food."

"How about you, Daryl?" Henry asked. "Where were you when the proverbial shit hit the proverbial fan?"

"Backwoods Georgia. Huntin' and campin' with my brother. Hadn't seen or heard news for a week. We started comin' across camps of people, all over the damn woods. Weren't used to seeing many people in them woods, so we finally asked someone – what the hell's goin' on? Some kind of convention of suburban wannabe campers or some shit? They said they was findin' higher ground, to get away from 'em. We asked 'em – get away from who? Then we came across a few geeks next day, figured out how to kill 'em right quick. Me and Merle kept movin', like we been doin', but a couple weeks later we settled in the same camp Carol was in."

"So you have been with Carol almost since the start?" Al asked.

"Well, we been in the same camp, anyhow," Daryl said.

"Like me and Jakob," Al replied. "I will miss him. He is my longest lived friend."

"And Rivka," Henry said.

Al nodded. "I promised him I will look after her and the baby."

"I was in New York when it got bad," Henry said. "I was an anthropology professor at NYU. Students started running to the windows right in the middle of my lecture. My son was a city firefighter at the time. We escaped the city in a truck he stole. We had to abandon the truck in Pennsylvania. We headed on bicycle to our vacation cabin in West Virginia, camping along the way."

They continued to talk until the deer tracks grew fresher, and then they hunted quietly. It took them a long time to find the deer, but they were determined not to come back empty handed today. They returned over two hours later than usual, and when they lay the deer on the butcher's table, Carol, who was already in the kitchen, threw her arms around Daryl.

He guessed they hadn't been fighting last night, then. She must have said yes. Or maybe she'd said no and felt bad about her refusal and wanted him to know she still wanted him around, even though she didn't want to marry him. "What's that for?" he asked.

"I was just worried," she told him. "You're usually back by one."

Awkwardly aware of Al and Henry's presence, Daryl slid from her grip. "Ain't no more cheetahs out there."

"Gloria was looking for you," Carol said. Henry lowered his head at the mention of Gloria's name and stared at the deer on the butcher's table. "It's Wednesday. You were supposed to teach the kids that hunter's safety class."

"Shit," Daryl muttered. "Forgot."

"She assumed as much," Carol replied. "She had me teach nutrition for an hour instead."

Daryl left to go get cleaned up. As the huntsmen all walked to the locker room together, Daryl told Henry, "You should offer to teach that hunter's safety class. Ya'd be better at that than me anyhow."

"You should," Al agreed. "Show Gloria you still care. Then, when things fall apart with Jason, she will come to you."

"Things aren't going to fall apart with Jason," Henry said. "He loves her as well as I ever did."

After they were cleaned up, Daryl went by Henry's portable for the ring. "What if Al's right?" Daryl asked as he looked at the ring. "What if Gloria wants to get back together with ya? Ain't she gonna want this back?"

"She'll make it work with Jason. She's a good wife."

Daryl leaned back against the teacher's desk. The portable was a spartan bachelor's pad - a cabinet, the bed, and the desk. "Well, what if ya find another woman ya want to give this to?"

"Not likely," Henry told him, "but if I do find another woman, I'll have Savannah pick me up a new ring on one of her runs. You need this _tonight_."

Daryl turned it in his fingers. "Ya ain't at all sentimental 'bout it?" It had been on the fingers of two of his wives, after all.

"I am. That's _why_ I'm giving it to you. A thing like that should be put to good use. It should mean something."

"Oh."

"When are you going to do it?"

Daryl shrugged. "After the banquet, I guess. Back at the apartment."

"Oh dear God, no, not in the apartment. At least take her on a walk around the garden. In the squash and pumpkin patch maybe."

"Why? It's a proposal. We ain't waitin' for Charlie Brown's Great Pumpkin."

"Because it's _scenic_. It's a lovely little patch. And there's a cobblestone path around it. It's better than your living room at least. You really have no idea what you're doing, do you?"

"Nah," Daryl admitted. "I don't."

"Have ya thought about what you're going to say?"

"Yeah, gonna say - think I might of asked ya this, but cain't remember what ya said, so, uh...Will ya marry me?"

Henry shook his head. "You have to say more than that."

"Why?" Daryl asked.

"You need a little speech about how she's the only woman in the world for you, how you love her, how she's changed your life - something to that effect."

Daryl sighed. "That ain't...I cain't do that. All them words and shit."

"Suit yourself."

Daryl slipped the ring in his back pocket and stood straight. He felt more nervous than he had since the time he hunted his first deer. It must have shown, because Henry said, "You'll do fine. She'll say yes."

Daryl didn't feel so sure about that as he made his retreat from Henry's portable.


	46. Chapter 46

Carol was acting normally at the banquet table, as though Daryl hadn't drunkenly proposed to her last night. What if he had dreamed it all? What if he hadn't said anything and she was completely shocked when he asked tonight?

Maybe he _shouldn't_ ask.

Hell, he'd only said _I love you_ a few days ago. He'd loved her quietly for so long, and so much had happened so quickly since he'd arrived in the Kingdom, that it seemed like a lot more time had passed than that, but the truth was, they hadn't been together - not as couple - for very long at all.

What if she laughed at the idea of marrying him?

Henry looked across the table at him, glanced at Carol, and wiggled an eyebrow.

 _Shit._ Why had he told Henry what he was planning to do? Why had he taken the ring? Al knew, too. Now, if he _didn't_ propose, he'd never hear the end of it from either of them.

"Uncle Daryl, would you pass the salt?" Savannah asked. She was sitting next to Henry, who treated her somewhat as a daughter, even if she had never married his son. Daryl slid the shaker over.

Savannah layered it on. Carol winced, and Daryl noticed. She always winced just a little when people added hot sauce or salt or pepper to her meals, as though she thought they might be insulting her cooking.

"You'll give yourself high blood pressure,"Henry told her.

Savannah turned her eyes languidly to him. "Seriously? I kill an average of twenty walkers a week on my supply runs, and you're worried about my blood pressure?"

"Fair enough," Henry muttered. "It's just...that's a disgusting amount of salt."

Savannah smiled across the table at Daryl. "You ever have Merle's country ham?"

"Hell yeah," Daryl said. "Like a salt lick. Way it's _s'posed_ to be."

"Wasn't really ham, though," Savannah said. "He made it with Spam."

"Just like Mama made it," Daryl said.

"Seems you two were primed for the Apocalypse," Henry observed.

"And the redneck shall inherit the earth." Savannah smiled as she took a bite of her rabbit stew.

Henry nodded to the Privy Council's table and Daryl followed his gaze. Al was hovering nearby it, Rivka's baby cradled in the nook of his arm, offering Sasha his one piece of bread. "Think he has a chance with her?" Henry asked.

"No," Savannah said as Al resumed his seat next to Rivka. "I feel bad for him. He's such a nice guy. But he's just so _not_ hot. Too tall and too thin, I think. And too desperate. He should go for Rivka, though, you know, after she's mourned awhile. She's always liked him."

"As the friend of her husband," Henry said.

Savannah shrugged. "She respects him, and she's not a romantic sort of woman. He's already good with the baby. Seems like a no-brainer to me. Besides, wouldn't that be kind of awesome? A Muslim-Jewish wedding?"

"Al promised Jakob..."

Daryl lost the thread of the conversation because he was mulling over whether or not to backpedal on his planned proposal. He didn't hear the announcements either, until Henry said, "How about that?"

"'Bout what?" Daryl asked.

"Sasha getting reassigned from palace guard to huntsmen. It's good to have a fourth, so we can hunt in pairs and cover more ground, but why not Savannah? She's at least been hunting with us once."

"Supplies have been running short," Savannah said. "They've got me running six days a week now. I couldn't hunt if I wanted to."

"Does Sasha have any hunting experience at all?" Henry asked.

"She can sure as shit shoot," Daryl replied, "but I ain't ever seen her hunt."

"Guess you and I will have to teach her to track," Henry said, "and Al can show her how to spear." Henry chuckled to himself. "How to spear. He'd _love_ to show her that."

[*]

"I think that's all, Michael," Carol said as she laced the kitchen towel through the oven door handle. "Thank you for your help. I couldn't do it without you."

The old chef said goodbye and left. Carol always did her best to make him feel useful, but the truth was, with those trembling hands, he was sometimes more a hindrance than a help. Carol looked about the glistening kitchen with satisfaction. The last of the kitchen servants scurried out to the cafeteria. There had been only two larger tupperware containers of leftovers today, added to the freezer for Sunday's leftover buffet.

She slid off her apron, tossed it in with the other kitchen laundry that would be picked up later tonight, and made her way through the cafeteria and out the back door. It was quicker to walk through the courtyard to her wing of the school than to navigate through the building.

Carol let out a little yelp at Daryl's sudden, "Hey."

She put a hand over her heart. "You startled me." It was as if he'd been lurking around the corner.

"Sorry. Just, uh...though ya might want to go for a walk."

She smiled. "Sure." She wondered if he remembered anything he'd said last night - if he had even meant any of it. She'd never imagined Daryl proposing at all. Carol assumed they'd just go on as they were indefinitely - living together, understood as a couple, but never officially cemented. But now that he had said something, she'd begun to think about whether or not she wanted to make it "legal." She didn't have a lot of faith in marriage as an institution after what she'd been through with Ed, but she loved Daryl. Perhaps more importantly, she trusted him not to hurt her.

They walked side by side toward the back of the building, where the gardens were. Carol reached for his hand, and he let her take it. There was an awkward silence, during which Carol attempted to make conversation, but Daryl seemed lost in thought.

They reached the gardens and began walking along the cobblestone path that surrounded the pumpkin and squash patch. It was lit in orange hues by the setting sun. "I can't wait to make some squash soup," she said, nodding to the yellow gourds. "They're almost ready."

Again, silence from Daryl.

She stopped walking. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Daryl let go of her hand and looked down at his boots. "Uh...don't know if you recall our conversation last night. Not even sure we had it."

"We had a conversation," Carol said.

Daryl looked up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Carol said with an affectionate smile. "Do _you_ remember it?"

"Not...uh...entirely." She saw he was rooting in his back pocket. She thought he was reaching for the red handkerchief that always seemed to be lodged there, though she didn't know why he would be. "But uh..." Daryl's hand came forward, and in the glint of the setting sun, Carol saw the diamond. She may have actually gasped. She certainly hadn't been expecting a _ring_ , not from him. "Listen, I got no idea how to do this, but I love ya." He fumbled with the ring, steadying it between his fingers. "I love ya and I want ya to be my wife. Want us to be official."

Carol was surprised, but not as much as she would have been absent yesterday's conversation. She was moved by his gesture, but she was also uncertain. " _Why_ do you want that?"

"Um..." This was something he apparently hadn't considered. "'Cause I love ya?"

"Okay, but why do you want us to be married as opposed to just living together?"

"Uh...'cause that's the next step, right?"

"For some people, yes."

Daryl dug the tip of his boot into a gape between two cobblestones. "But not for us?"

Carol place a hand reassuringly on his hip and tried to catch his eyes, but he wouldn't look up from the path. "I guess I'm asking what marriage means to you, because all it seemed to mean to Ed was that he owned me. And you said something last night about making sure everyone knows I'm _yours_."

Daryl's head jerked up. "Ya don't think I'm gonna turn out to be a wife beater, do ya?"

"Of course I don't. But I want to know what it _means_ to you before I say yes. I just...I want to know what I'm saying yes _to_."

Holding the ring in one hand, Daryl chewed on his thumbnail with the other. He lowered his thumb to speak. "I dunno what ya want me to say. I love ya. Shit, Carol, that's all I know. Took me forever just to know that much."

She smiled gently.

"I love ya and I want ya, and, yeah, I _do_ want other people to know we're...ya know...official. That we belong to each other sorta. That ya've decided there ain't gonna be no man for ya 'cept me. But I don't want to _own_ ya. Not like that. Cain't. Cain't no one own Carol but Carol."

Carol chuckled at his choice of phrasing, but the acknowledgment meant a lot to her.

"I dunno know what marriage means exactly," Daryl admitted. "My parents had a shit marriage. I never been married. But I just want to know that this is it. You and me. This is it. And we're gonna make it work. No matter what shit happens, we're gonna make it work."

Carol felt a warm wave of affection overtake her, and a flood of joy that almost made her cry. "Yes, then."

He looked in her eyes. "Yes? As in, yes, yer gonna be my wife?"

She nodded and held out her hand.

He grinned. "Hell yeah! A'right. Good." He let his hand with the ring drop and looked like he was going to start heading back.

"You aren't going to put the ring on me?"

"Oh! Yeah. Sorry." He took her hand. He held it a little unsteadily in his own as he slid the ring on. He couldn't quite get it all the way down. It was a little too tight. "Damn. Didn't think 'bout it not fittin'. There a royal jeweler or somethin'?"

"I know someone who can size it," she said. "But where'd you get it?"

"Umm..." He seemed afraid to tell her.

"Never mind. It doesn't matter. It's beautiful. Thank you." She stepped forward to kiss him.

The crickets sang as he pulled her tightly against himself. Eventually, they broke apart and headed back into the school building, hand in hand. As the door to their wing clanged shut behind them, Daryl muttered, "Oh shit."

"What's wrong?"

"Forgot to get down on one knee. I s'posed to do that."

Carol laughed and bumped his shoulder playfully with hers. "That's okay. Save your bending for after we're married. We're probably going to be doing a lot of compromising."


	47. Chapter 47

Daryl was gentle with Carol tonight, and the lovemaking was tortuously, tantalizingly slow. They'd been naked in bed for quite some time now, and he'd been caressing her with feathery, teasing touches and soft kisses too long. "I want you," she begged.

"Hmm?" he murmured.

"Please, Daryl, I want you."

"How ya want me, darlin'?" he asked.

"In me." She rolled so that they were side to side, face to face, and pressed herself against him. He took her top leg, wrapped it around himself, and pushed slowly into her. Carol whimpered.

"Ya like that, don't ya?"

She couldn't form the word _yes_. She could only moan as he began to thrust slowly and deliberately. He caught her moan with her mouth, and all words seeped from her mind. He broke the kiss to whisper into her ear how good she felt around him and how much he wanted her. His voice was like a drug.

Later, she turned her back to his chest and relaxed into his spooned embrace. Heat radiated from his flesh, and she felt like she was being enveloped by an electric blanket. "That good?" he murmured.

"Yes. For you?"

He kissed her earlobe and murmured, "Mhmhm. I kind of like it when ya beg me."

"Is that why you stopped moving half way through?"

"Worked, didn't it?"

She chuckled. It had. She'd finally found words.

Carol stroked his arm. His chin now rested on her head. "When we get married," she asked, "can we maybe have a little ceremony? Instead of just signing the record book, have an actual ceremony?"

"I ain't much for crowds."

She rolled in his arms to face him and placed a palm on his cheek. "I know. I don't mean anything big. Just _our_ people. The ones from our camp."

"Well, if we's havin' people...can we have Savannah and Henry and Al too?"

"Sure. And maybe we can have Pastor James perform the ceremony?"

"Who's he?" Daryl asked.

"He's the guy who does the church services on Sundays. I've been to two. He seems nice enogh. Kind of a generic Christian. If that's okay with you."

"Ain't got nothin' 'gainst generic Christians. Hell, I ain't got nothin' 'gainst specific Christians neither. Long as they ain't knockin' on my door. " He was quiet for awhile and then asked, "Am I gonna have to say somethin'?"

She smiled. "Just repeat something. Traditional vows? To have and to hold and all that? Is that okay?" If they were going to do this, she didn't want it to be completely informal.

"Whatever ya want, Carol. That's all for you. Just tell me when to show up and where to stand."

She cuddled in close. "Thank you."

[*]

The sky was overcast, with large gray clouds threatening rain, but this morning, everything seemed strangely beautiful to Daryl as he walked to the truck. When he got in, he half hoped Henry or Al would ask him about the proposal, so he could have an excuse to brag that Carol had agreed to be his wife, but neither did. Maybe it was because Sasha was with them today, or maybe they were afraid he'd been shot down.

"You will make a good hunter, I am sure." Al's bright smile flashed in the rear view mirror at Sasha. "I will show you how to spear frogs." Sasha, with a thinly repressed smile, turned her eyes to Daryl. He pretended not to notice Al's enthusiasm.

"I think I'm more interested in learning to track deer," Sasha said. "I'm already a decent shot. I should really focus on animals that can be hunted easily by rifle."

"Then we will hunt pig," Al said. "We split into pairs. You may come with me."

"I think it's probably best if I go with Daryl," Sasha told him. "Since we've worked together in the past. Not hunting, but...you know, we come from the same camp."

"Henry's our rifle man," Daryl said. He didn't much feel like teaching today. He was happy, but also a little nervous about this wedding ceremony Carol wanted, and he needed to lose himself in the hunt. Also, he suspected Henry would be a more patient instructor than he could be. "Al and I had our eye on some boar tracks the other day. Henry, why don't ya show Sasha how to track deer while Al and I try to get that pig?"

"Happy to oblige," Henry said.

[*]

The range was empty when Carol went to practice that morning. She found the firearms instructor somewhat distracted, leaned back against a wooden shooting bench with Michonne in his arms, their lips locked in a lingering kiss.

"Should I come back another time?" Carol asked with a friendly smirk. "Turn that range sign to closed?"

Michonne stepped away from Rick and chuckled. "No. I've got to get to the gym for training anyway." As she walked by Carol, her eyes fell to the engagement ring. "Well, well, well!"

Carol blushed and smiled.

"When's the wedding?" Michonne asked.

"What wedding?" Rick's back was turned to them as he unloaded several handguns from a bag, cleared them, and lined them up on the bench.

"Carol's got a rock on her finger," Michonne told him.

Rick lay the last gun down, turned, walked over to Carol, and grinned down at the ring. " _Daryl_ gave you that?"

"No, Einstein, King Ezekiel did," Michonne told him with a roll of her eyes.

"I just...Daryl's never struck me as a romantic sort of guy."

"Well, he is," Carol said. "In his own Daryl sort of way. We're thinking of getting married this Sunday, since most people are off work. We want to keep it small. You two, Sasha, Eugene, Carl, Morgan. A few friends from the Kingdom, too. I was hoping Judith could be our little flower girl."

"That would be a sight to see," Rick said with a chuckle. "You willing to take that risk? God knows what she might do."

Carol nodded and smiled.

"Who would have thought it?" Michonne said. She raised an eyebrow at Rick. "Even _Daryl_ got his woman a ring."

Rick watched her leave.

"Sorry," Carol apologized. "I didn't mean to stir up any...uh..."

"I don't know what that was about," Rick insisted, returning to his guns. "She's never been married. I thought she was _against_ marriage."

"Well, it seems like maybe your assumption was wrong."

"Seems like," Rick agreed, and he shook his head as he began loading a magazine.

[*]

Al had been quiet and sullen then entire time they hiked, and now that they had reached the bank of the stream where they'd last seen boar tracks, he stabbed three frogs roughly. He peeled them from his spear and slid them in a satchel he wore on his hip. "Why did you ask Henry to teach her? Why not me?"

"'Cause she's rifle huntin' and so's Henry. Makes sense. She ain't interested in the crossbow or spear."

"She is not interested in the boomerang either."

"Well, Henry don't use it that much. Taught his son to hunt. Knows how to teach."

Water splashed violently around Al's ankles as he hiked farther into the stream. Daryl shouldered his crossbow. "Hell, hey, ya want to teach someone to spear frogs so damn bad? Show me."

"I wanted to show _her_."

"Well I ain't a pretty girl, but ya know, I wanna learn. Show me how to spear the damn frogs. They's too fast and small to get with an arrow."

"Very well."

It was actually fun, wadding in the stream and poking those hopping things like he was building himself a shish kabob. When Daryl had gotten three, he peeled them off and put them in Al's pack.

They went after the boar next. Daryl slowed it with his arrows and Al finished it with his spear. They got back to the truck before Henry and Sasha, skinned the frogs, threw them in the ice chest, and got the boar situated in the bed of the pick-up. Then they chowed down on some lunch snacks while they waited for the other two.

Daryl was licking orange Cheetos dust off his fingers when the sound of laughter drifted from the woods beyond the clearing. Henry emerged first from the foliage, smiling and carrying a string of doves slung over his shoulder. The birds were laced together and hung five in the front and five in the back. Sasha came out from among the trees just behind him, laughing at whatever he had just said. She had two large rabbits slung over her shoulder.

"No luck tracking down a deer today," Henry said when they reached the truck, "but Sasha's a fine shot indeed. She got one of those rabbits and three of these birds." He tossed the birds in the large ice chest with the frogs. "Maybe the king knew what he was doing, after all, by assigning her to be a huntsman."

"I _asked_ to be re-assigned, actually," Sasha said. "I was getting bored, standing on that wall all night. Nothing ever happens."

"Be careful what you wish for," Henry told her. "We should all be lucky to be bored."

"We can be _safe_ without being _bored_ ," Sasha said. "Hunting was exciting. A lot more so than keeping watch."

"You did very well for your first time," Al said.

"It wasn't exactly my first time," Sasha replied.

"Her father took her duck hunting a few times," Henry explained. "When she was a teenager. On Lake Harbell, was it?"

"Hartwell," she said.

"Tomorrow we'll get that deer together," Henry said. "We lost the tracks near the pond."

"Perhaps all four of us should hunt together tomorrow," Al suggested. "More eyes on the trail."

"I don't know," Sasha said, opening the rear passenger's side door. "I don't want to slow you and Daryl down. You two got that boar. I bet you wouldn't have if you'd been busy teaching me. Besides, Crocodile Dundee here is going to teach me to use the boomerang."

"Who is Crocodile Dundee?" Al asked.

"Guy in a movie in the 80s," Daryl said, "who don't look or sound nothin' like Henry."

"Oh, I don't know," Sasha said. "Both are blonde with gorgeous blue eyes."

"Henry has gray hair," Al insisted.

"Gray-blonde," Sasha replied, and slid in the back seat.

Al jerked the front passenger door of the pick-up open, glaring at Henry. Henry looked apologetic as he walked around to the driver's side.

"Is Crocodile Dundee as old as Henry?" Al asked. "Because Henry will soon turn fifty-two."

"I'm positively ancient," Henry said as he slid the keys into the ignition.

"If the actor's still alive, he's probably close to eighty by now," Sasha said. "I was two or three when the movie came out, though I didn't see it until I was a teenager."

"Damn, yer younger than I thought," Daryl said. "I's 14 when it came out. Saw it in the theater. Snuck in."

"I guess I really _am_ ancient," Henry said. "Because I was in college when it came out." He slung his arm around the back of Al's seat and turned to look as he reversed the truck.

"Well, you're in pretty good shape for an old man," Sasha said with a chuckle.

"A man old enough to be your father," Al observed.

"My own father would be seventy if he were alive today."

"I was probably two when this Crocodile movie occurred," Al said. "Like you. Or one year old, perhaps. How old are you, Sasha?"

"Don't ever ask a woman how old she is," Henry warned him as he began crunching over gravel down to the road.

"How is Clara?" Al asked him pointedly.

"I wouldn't know," Henry replied with irritation. "I'm not well acquainted with her."

"But I thought you were considering acquainting yourself," Al said.

In the back seat, Sasha raised an eyebrow. "Clara Washington?" she asked. "The carpenter."

"I decided that wasn't advisable," Henry said.

"I's gettin' married!" Daryl practically shouted from the back seat, anything to end this awkward conversation between the two huntsmen in the front.

"Congratulations," Al and Henry said at once, while Sasha smiled broadly.

"Daryl Dixon?" Sasha asked. "Getting _married_?"

"Dixons marry," he said. "Hell, even Merle was married once, for two or three years."

"To Savannah's mom?" Sasha asked.

"Nah, to his high school girl. When he's in the military. Didn't see her much. She left 'em while he's in."

"Well congratulations to you and Carol," Sasha told him. "It's good to see you putting down roots here, as much as you doubt this place."

"Ain't got nowhere else to put 'em down," Daryl told her. "'Cept wherever Carol is."


	48. Chapter 48

The kids enjoyed their nutrition and cooking class so much, that Gloria invited Carol back to teach them for another hour on Thursday. When she saw Carol out into the hall afterward, Gloria said, "I noticed your ring."

Carol smiled. "Daryl gave it to me last night."

"I assumed as much. Can I see it?" Carol held out her hand and Gloria examined the ring. "It's beautiful. I'm glad it's being put to good use."

"What do you mean?"

Gloria dropped Carol's hand. "It's the one Henry gave me."

"Oh." Carol turned the ring on her finger and felt uneasy. "Daryl didn't tell me where he got it."

"I guess I'm just a little surprised Henry parted with it." Gloria's green eyes clouded. "Maybe some part of me doesn't like the idea of him letting me go, even though _I_ was the one to make the decision to go back to Jason."

"I can't even imagine being put in that position," Carol admitted.

"When I thought Jason was dead, I think I turned to Henry for comfort. He was attractive and kind and funny, and he made me forget my pain. When he asked to marry me, I thought...why not? Life is short in this world. But then I came to love him, too. And yet..." She shook her head. "Jason and I have such a long history together. I did what I thought was best."

"That's all you can do."

"Every time I see Henry talking to another woman, someone's who's single, I feel this completely unfair jealousy." She leaned back against the wall and sighed. "And I don't feel it when I see Jason talking to other women."

"Maybe because Jason is with you," Carol suggested. "And you know he's not going to get together with one of those women."

"But Henry is," Gloria said. "Eventually. With some one."

"You can't leave him and then expect him to pine for you forever."

"I know that. Doesn't make it easy, though." She put a hand on Carol's shoulder. "Congratulations. I'm very happy for you and Daryl." The kids were growing rowdy in the classroom, so Gloria excused herself to go inside.

[*]

As Daryl emerged from the shower, towel around his waist, he found Rick standing before an open locker and fastening his wrist watch. "I hear congratulations are in order."

"For what?" Daryl asked, jerking his locker open on the opposite side.

"You're getting married?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Any reason you didn't mention you were planning to propose?"

"Kind of did it without thinkin' 'bout it that night Jakob died. I's drunk. Then figured I'd better follow up with a proper proposal, ya know." He leaned back against the lockers and crossed his arms over his chest. "But, uh...since you mentioned it, I wanted to ask ya...will ya sign the record book for us? You and Michonne? As our two legal witnesses?"

"Of course we will." Rick put a hand on each of his hips and rested heavier on one leg than another, a classic cop's stance. "But now let me ask _you_ something."

"What's that?"

"Would Carol feel like it was stealing her thunder if we made it a double wedding? Just seems like it might be convenient, since we'd all be there."

"You and Michonne, ya mean?" Daryl asked.

Rick nodded.

"Ya proposed?"

"No, but I will."

"Ya seem pretty damn sure she's gonna say yes." Daryl had possessed no such confidence. Sometimes he wished he could have Rick's easy self-assurance.

"Michonne raised her eyebrow at me when she saw Carol's ring."

"And that means she wants to marry ya?" Daryl asked skeptically.

"I think so."

"Damn, man. Wish I could read women like that." Daryl pulled his clothes out of his locker while Rick latched his shut.

"See what Carol thinks before I suggest it to Michonne," Rick told him. "I wouldn't want to ruin her wedding. We don't have to do it at the same time. I just thought...if she's okay with it, you know?"

"Yeah. I'll see."

Rick slapped him on the shoulder. His hand seemed to freeze when he noticed the lashes on Daryl's back, but he didn't say anything about them. "Congratulations, brother. I'm really happy for you two." Rick slid his hands into the pockets of his tan khakis - the pants he always wore to the banquets. "You think we can really make a life here? All of us? Do you think things are settled?"

"Settled?" Daryl asked. "Nah. Shit'll hit the fan some day. If it ain't the walkers or someone like the Governor or the Wolves or the Saviors, it'll be somethin' else."

"So you agree we need to stay ready to fight."

"Rick, man, I've lived my whole life ready to fight. Ain't gonna stop now. But in the meantime, 'til that fight comes, for once in my life...think maybe I wanna build somethin' worth fightin' for."

[*]

"Best dove I ever ate," Daryl told Carol when she emerged from the kitchen to join them at the banquet table.

"Have you eaten a lot of dove?"

"Nah. Had duck though." He pointed his fork at Henry. "Ya should take Sasha duck huntin' tomorrow, since she's already done that 'fore. Take her to the pond."

"You want to duck hunt?" Henry asked.

"Not _me_ ," Daryl said. "Y'all two. Don't like it much. Sittin' 'round. Makin' bird calls. Waitin'. Sittin'. I'd much rather track. Al can come with me again."

Henry looked over to the table where Al sat talking to Rivka, and then to the table behind him, where Sasha ate with the Council. "I think Al's going to be upset if I monopolize Sasha again."

"He's gonna have to get over that," Daryl said. "'Cause that ain't happenin'."

"Is Al sweet on Sasha?" Savannah asked with a gossipy grin.

"Can't really blame him," Henry said. "She's a strong, attractive woman." Henry glanced back at Sasha's table.

"Is that so?" Savannah asked. "What is she? Ten years older than me?"

"She's over thirty," Henry said.

"Yeah," Savannah laughed. "So about ten years older than me." She kicked him playfully under the table. "Cradle robber."

Henry dropped his fork and held up his hands. "I have attempted no robberies."

Daryl caught sight of Carol's smile. "What ya lookin' at?" he asked, following her gaze to what he thought was King Ezekiel on the stage.

"Al," she said. "He's kind of cure with that baby." Al had Rivka's little one sleeping against his shoulder, his large black hand supporting the child's light brown head.

Savannah followed Carol's gaze. "I have to admit," she said. "He is."

"He _is_ adorable, isn't he?" Henry asked her. "Perhaps _you_ should date Al."

"He's eleven years older than me," Savannah said. "As you yourself once pointed out."

"Age is nothing in matters of the heart," Henry said. "I mean, provided you're of age. Which you certainly are. You turn twenty soon, don't you?"

Savannah shook her head. "Where is this coming from? You've never tried to foist me off on Al before. Or _anyone_."

Henry shrugged. He glanced back over his shoulder one more time.

[*]

When they were back in the apartment, Carol worked off the engagement ring and pressed it in Daryl's palm. "I can't wear this."

"But..." Daryl looked at the ring in his hand, his blue eyes clouding and his ears growing red. "Ya already said yes! Ain't gonna take back yer word, are ya?"

"No! I don't mean I don't want to marry you. Of course I want to marry you. I just...I can't take a ring that Henry gave to Gloria."

"Oh." He slumped down on the love seat, looking at once relieved and disappointed. She sat next to him. "Sorry," he said. "Henry told me...he said I should have a ring to give ya."

"It's fine, Daryl, the proposal was enough for me."

"I can have Savannah pick ya up another one on her supply run tomorrow. Whatcha want?"

"I don't really need an engagement ring," she assured him. "We aren't going to be engaged but a few more days. And a big diamond like that...it kind of gets in the way when I'm target shooting."

"That's what I told Henry! But he said every woman wants a ring."

"It's possible you know me better than Henry does," Carol teased. She settled her head on his shoulder. "But I wouldn't mind a simple wedding band. Gold."

"A'right."

"Will you wear one too?"

"If ya want," he said, though he'd never worn a piece of jewelry in his life and wasn't sure he could get used to it. "We could get matchin' tatoos instead."

"I don't think that's really my style." She turned her head slightly towards his, and his faint smile told her he was teasing.

"Tattoo yer name right on my arm," he said. "Ya could do the same." He took hold of her arm and ran a finger along the inside of it, tracing the word Daryl in cursive on her skin. She giggled because it tickled. He traced his name again and again up her arm, over her shoulder, and down her collar bone, before kissing her on the last spot his finger touched, just above the first open button of her blouse. His chin still on her chest, he raised his eyes to hers. "Wanna maybe fool around?" he asked.

She chuckled. "Fool around? That's what teenagers say."

Frowning, he pulled his head away.

"I wasn't criticizing. I like the way you put things. The way you are with me. You make me feel so young. Young and alive and like I have a second chance to get it all right." She couldn't keep the edges of her lips from easing up. "I want to _fool around_. Like teenagers do. Fool around and not go _all the way_."

He narrowed his eyes. "Why not all the way?"

She kissed his cheek. "Unfortunately, my monthly visitor has arrived."

"Yer what?"

"I'm indisposed."

"Ya mean yer on the rag?"

"Not how I like to put it."

He worked off his boots, which he tossed unceremoniously under the coffee table. "How long's that gonna last?"

"Four or five days, maybe."

"That long?" he asked.

"Poor Pookie." Carol formed her face into a fake pout.

Daryl smiled, more with his eyes than with his mouth, and turned to her. He caressed her cheek, slid his hand down, and unbuttoned one button of her blouse. "Well, if we're bein' teenagers..." He undid another, slowly easing it through the hole. "Can I at least feel ya up?"

She laughed. "I don't know. My curfew's pretty soon."

"C'mon, girl," he murmured, sliding his hand inside her now half unbottoned shirt. "Just a little touchin'..." He captured her lips with his. "And tastin'..." She gasped at the feel of his callused thumb circling her nipple through the fabric of her bra. Against her neck, he murmured, "Let's fog up these classroom windows."

She chuckled. "You sure have been gaining confidence."

"Mhmm," he hummed as he unfastened the front clasp of her bra. "Well, that's yer fault for agreein' to marry me." He gently tweaked a nipple and then caught her surprised moan with a kiss. He trailed his lips to her ear and murmured, "Want me to stop?"

Carol bit down on her bottom lip and shook her head.

"Nah?" He slid his hand to her other breast. "Ya like that, darlin'?"

Through tightly closed lips, she whimpered and leaned into his touch. His mouth followed his hand, and Carol closed her eyes.

[*]

Daryl groaned as his head thudded back against the filing cabinet dresser. The cabinet clanged and then creaked. With a hand to the back of Carol's head, he urged her on. He hadn't asked her to do this, but maybe she'd seen the two stars he'd put on page 12. The woman in that picture was kneeling on a plush carpet, though. Carol had just thrown down a pillow on their tile bedroom floor.

Later, as they spooned together in bed, he said, "Thank ya for doin' that for me."

"No reason we should both be frustrated."

"Wish I could do somethin' more for you."

She yawned. "I'm fine."

She seemed about to doze off when Daryl suddenly remembered his conversation with Rick. "Ah, shit, I s'posed to ask - how ya feel if Rick and Michonne got married with us?"

"This bed's really not big enough for four," Carol answered.

"I meant - " His mouth pressed into a stern line when he realized she was teasing him. "Ain't what I meant."

"A double wedding?"

"Yeah."

Carol rolled in his arms to face him. "I'd really like our wedding to just be _our_ wedding."

"A'right. I'll just tell Rick to fuck off."

"Well, you might put it more politely than that," she suggested with a smile. She buried her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. She looked so peaceful lying there, in the faint rays of the moonlight through the window, his Carol, his bride-to-be. Content, Daryl closed his eyes, too.


	49. Chapter 49

**A/N:** _I'm not quite sure when I will wrap this up, but definitely before the new season premiers. Hope readers are still enjoying it._

[*]

Al looked over his shoulder at Henry and Sasha as they headed, talking and laughing, toward the pond to hunt ducks. He turned his attention back to the trail and muttered, "Some friend."

Daryl didn't say a word. He concentrated fiercely on the sign cutting. He didn't blame Al for being irritated with Henry for his friendliness toward Sasha, when the man knew exactly how Al felt about her, but he also didn't blame Henry for responding to Sasha's flirtations, when he was painfully and suddenly single and she was a hell of a lot more worthy of respect than most of the women in this Kingdom.

Truth be told, Daryl didn't think much of the women outside his group. Gloria was all right, if you didn't count that mortifying kiss she'd planted on his cheek his first day back from the hunt, or the fact that she'd left Henry's heart shattered in a hundred jagged pieces. She had her moral code, her duty to her first husband, and she was direct and outspoken - someone he could understand. He was growing fond of Savannah, but she was blood after all. The rest of these Kingdom women, though, he couldn't relate to on any level. They were part of the background scenery, as far as he was concerned. Maybe they had their individual virtues, but Daryl hadn't gone through the furnace with them, the way he had with his own people.

Al crouched down. "Are those bear prints?"

Daryl got on his haunches beside him. "Black bear, I reckon. Unless ya got somethin' else in Virginia."

"Not unless it came from the zoo. Or migrated." Al stood and looked around the forest. "With so few people, the nature of the land is changing. I am sure there were no wild pigs in these woods before."

Daryl walked beside the prints, shifting leaves with his boot-clad-foot, and craning his neck to study the sign. In the distance, the sound of gun shots echoed near the pond - one, two, three, four, five. "Sounds like duck for dinner," he said. "Hope they don't draw walkers, like when we found Jason."

"I am unconcerned," Al said. "There are so few of the creatures left in these woods, and, in small numbers, they are easier to kill than most game." Al hiked on, saying, "I have never eaten bear meat."

"Tastes like whatever the bear was eatin'," Daryl replied. "If he's been feastin' on berries, he'll be sweet. This is the best time to hunt 'em, too. More fat. Gettin' ready for the winter."

Al looked down at the diverging trail. "So we go for the bear rather than the deer?"

"Yeah. Somethin' different."

They found two bears. It wasn't easy confronting them with only crossbow and spear, but they brought one down. The other escaped. They field dressed their kill and dragged it back on the sled to the pick-up, where Sasha and Henry were already waiting, sitting on an outstretched blanket and eating lunch. Sasha was reaching over to wipe something off Henry's cheek when Daryl and Al approached, and she quickly dropped her hand, while Henry shot into a standing position, exclaiming, "Good on ya! That's some real meat there, mates. We'll have to hang that in the smoke house for a bit."

"How many ducks y'all get?" Daryl asked.

"Seven," Sasha answered. She pointed to the remaining lunch snacks. "Hungry, gentleman?"

Al sat beside her, while Daryl just leaned down and grabbed himself a protein bar and then jerked his head to motion Henry to follow him. They walked a little ways from the truck.

"What is it?" Henry asked.

Daryl, chewing on the protein bar, reached his free hand into his pants pocket and pulled out the engagement ring. "She don't want it," he muttered around his food.

Henry took the ring in his hand. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's not _completely_ over is it? What happened?"

Daryl swallowed. "Nah, mean she don't want a ring. Ya keep it. We're still gettin' married."

Henry looked relieved, smiled lightly, and slipped the ring into his front shirt pocket.

[*]

When they returned to the Kingdom, after delivering the bear to the butcher's table, Daryl and Al ran into Maggie in the hallway on their way to the locker room. Daryl nodded to her. He was glad to see her out and about and looking healthy, because she'd missed the last three communal meals due to nausea. She seemed to have evening sickness rather than morning sickness. Sasha typically took her a plate after the banquets, because they roomed together.

"Congratulations on your pending nuptials," she said.

"My what?" Daryl asked.

"Carol told me you two are getting hitched."

"Yeah. Hope ya can come to the weddin'. Gonna be real small."

"Glen, Jr. and I will be there," she said with a bittersweet smile. She rubbed her hand over her belly.

"How ya know it's a boy?" Daryl asked. He didn't think the Kingdom had those fancy machine things that could tell you.

"I don't. I just have a feeling."

Al stood beside Daryl, his head tilted slightly, and smiling as they spoke. Finally, he said, "I do not believe we have officially met. I am Alemnesh, but you can call me Al."

"Like the Paul Simon song," Maggie said.

"I am not familiar," Al replied.

"If you'll be my bodyguard," Maggie said, "I can be your long lost pal."

"Why are you in need of a body guard?" Al asked.

She laughed. "No, those are some of the lyrics. Of the song."

"Oh. You must play it for me one day." He held out his hand. "Pleased to formally meet you." As she shook, he glanced down at her belly. "How pregnant are you?"

"Shit, man," Daryl muttered under his breath. "Even I know not to ask a woman that."

Al's dark skin lightened with a blush.

Maggie chuckled. "It's okay. I don't mind. I'm in my third trimester now."

"Need ta get washed up and find Rick," Daryl told them, and left them standing and talking in the hall.

[*]

Rick was just putting up a sign that read "Range Closed. Re-opens at 8 PM for night shooting" when Daryl arrived.

"Sorry," he said. "Did you want to practice? I can re-open for an hour."

"Nah," Daryl replied, "but I probably should put a few rounds through my handgun soon. Haven't used it for a few days. Just wanted to talk to ya."

"Shoot," Rick said. "I mean..." He rolled his hands in a gesture the implied Daryl should talk.

Daryl leaned back against the lightly sanded wood of one of the shooting tables. "The double weddin' thing? That's a no go for Carol."

Rick nodded. "Fair enough. I'll wait to ask until after your honeymoon then. Where are you taking her?"

Daryl blinked and Rick laughed. "I ain't s'posed to do somethin' like that, am I? I mean, what _could_ I do?"

"Champagne and flowers waiting for her in the apartment. That's what I'd do." Rick picked up his shooting bag and draped it over his shoulder. Daryl turned and walked with him back toward the school. He doubted Savannah could find him any champagne, but she might find him something.

[*]

That night, for the first time, Carol said no to fooling around. "I'm feeling crampy," she explained, hoping he wouldn't pout about it. She'd been spoiling him with sex ever since the first time they'd slept together. He might have started to take the frequency for granted. "I just want to relax and watch a movie with you."

"A'ight." He sounded a bit resigned, but he settled down on the love seat next to her, draping an arm around her shoulders, and putting his feet up on the coffee table. "What romance do I gotta suffer through this time?"

Carol grinned, leaned forward, and pressed play on the portable DVD player. "Just a little something I had Savannah find for me on her run today." She settled back against him as _Seven Samurai_ came on the screen. "Hey!" Daryl exclaimed. "This is my favorite movie!"

"I know, Pookie. That's why I had her get it."

"But how'd ya know?" he asked, his brow adorably crinkled.

"You told me, remember? When we played Two Truths and a Lie on the prison tower?" She peered up at him to find him looking down at her with curiosity.

"If I'd of kissed ya that night, what would ya have done?"

"Kissed you back. And then...maybe more."

"Fuuuuuck."

She laughed.

"Did I really waste that much time?"

"You didn't love me then," she said with a shrug.

"Yeah. Yeah, I probably did." He kissed the top of her head and breathed in her scent. He settled his cheek on her head and asked, "Think yer uh...vistor's gonna be gone by Sunday?"

"Why?" she asked with a smile. "You think we should have sex on our wedding night?"

"Thought occurred to me," he admitted.

Carol turned and kissed him. "I think we'll have a good wedding night."

"Well don't talk through the whole damn movie," he said.

She shook her head and settled comfortably against him. She was asleep before the credits rolled.


	50. Chapter 50

Twigs crunched beneath Daryl's boots as he made his way through the foliage toward the clearing where they had parked the pick-up. A string of rabbits, which was draped over his shoulder, swayed lightly from side to side. Behind him Al walked quietly, a satchel full of frogs slung on his left shoulder and his spear in his right hand.

Through the now semi-bare limbs of the trees, Daryl spied the truck. Sasha was leaned back against the front bumper. Henry stood in front of her, his hands flat down on the hood on either side of her hips. She smiled as he leaned in for a kiss.

Daryl whirled around and Al nearly bumped face first into him. "Hold up!" Daryl said. "Ya hear that? Think maybe that was a deer." He pointed behind Al, who turned.

"There were no tracks," Al replied.

"Could of sworn I heard a deer!" Daryl shouted.

Al blinked in surprise. "No need to be angry about it. We've caught much. They must have something, too." He walked past Daryl, who followed him into the clearing.

Sasha and Henry were now several feet apart. "Geese galore!" Henry shouted toward them. "And a few ducks. What did you find?"

[*]

"Feeling better finally?" Carol asked Maggie as she sat down next to Daryl and across from the expectant mother at the banquet table.

"I didn't think you were supposed to feel sick in the _third_ trimester," Maggie replied. "Maybe it had nothing to do with the pregnancy. Might have been a stomach bug. I'm glad to be back at the table with y'all."

"I was lucky with Sophia," Carol told her. "No morning sickness at all, but my third trimester I just felt constantly bloated." It wasn't until the words were out that Carol realized she had mentioned her daughter aloud. It wasn't often she did that, and a sudden stab of pain twisted her heart. She gritted her teeth together, her lips trembling slightly, to ensure she didn't cry. She thought she was about to when she felt Daryl's hand land on her knee beneath the table.

He squeezed, just once, but it was enough. He slid his hand away and Carol's smile steadied. "If it is a boy, I bet Glen Jr. will have a playmate in Ben-oni," she said, nodding to the table where Al sat beside Rivka, holding the sleeping newborn against his shoulder with one hand as he ate with the other.

Maggie turned to follow her gaze and then looked back at Carol. "You'd think _he_ was the father."

"He does seem a natural," Carol replied.

"Al had three little sisters and four little brothers," Daryl told her. He looked toward Maggie. "Sorry I left ya trapped talkin' to 'em in the hall yesterday."

"Why sorry?" Maggie asked.

"Uh...just...dunno."

Carol chuckled. She knew what Daryl was thinking - that women didn't like being caught in conversation with Al because he was a awkward and over-eager in his attentions. Not that Daryl was one to boast of social skill, but his own brand of social awkwardness generally resulted in leaving people alone.

"Seemed like a nice enough guy to me," Maggie said.

"Al is very nice," Carol agreed.

"I ain't sayin' he's not nice," Daryl replied.

"He's a little socially awkward," Maggie observed. "But you know I've never had a problem getting along with socially awkward guys."

Maggie made an expression similar to the one Carol had made when thinking of Sophia. Because she didn't have anyone to put a hand on her knee, Carol reached across the table and put a hand on her hand. "We all miss Glenn," she said.

[*]

In the Royal forest, Daryl and Al caught a six-point buck, which Al had pursued relentlessly and past their usual return time. "I will not be outdone by Henry today," he said as Daryl field dressed the animal, his hands growing wet with blood. "Do you think he impresses Sasha?"

Daryl paused in his work to scratch his nose with his elbow. "Dunno." He went back to pulling out the organs.

"You know her. What sort of man earns her fancy?"

Hell if Daryl knew. Bob and Abraham were as different as night and day, and Henry was someone else entirely. "Don't think she has a type."

"But she has an anti-type?" Al asked. "Me."

Daryl rose, opened his canteen, and poured water over his bloody hands. He closed it back up, dropped it on top of his pack, and yanked the rag from his back pocket to wipe his hands. "Jesus, man, there's probably twelve single women in the Kingdom. Plenty of fish in the sea."

"Perhaps, but none of them are biting."

"Well don't make so much damn noise when you're in the water."

"What do you mean?" Al asked.

"Just...dunno. Don't seem so eager. Fuck, never mind, I dunno. I'm the last guy to give relationship advice."

"You have a woman," Al reminded him.

"Yeah but that weren't through any effort of mine." Daryl picked up one rope of the drag sled and wrapped it around his wrist twice for an easier grip.

"You must have done _something_ to win her." Al picked up the other rope, and they began dragging the deer back to the pick up.

"Ain't never done nothin' but love 'er."

Daryl didn't bother to make a lot of noise when they emerged through the clearing this time. Best to rip the bandaid off, he figured. He let Al catch Henry and Sash in the act of kissing, which brought a dark red hue to Al's cheeks and put a scowl on his face. He said nothing, however, and simply got to work loading the deer in the pick-up.

Later, when all three were in the locker room, Henry shaving over one sink after his shower, Daryl still trying to get the last of the blood off his hands in the next sink, and Al merely leaning against a third, Henry said, "Look, Al, I'm sorry, but my not responding to her flirtations wouldn't have made her run to you."

"There is a code between friends."

"I'm not just trifling, mate. I really do like her."

"You are merely rebounding from Gloria," Al insisted.

"Yes, well, sometimes you make a good shot on the rebound."

Daryl turned off the faucet, grabbed the towel off the metal shelf above the sink, and began drying his hands. They were still the slightest bit stained. His palms were never really flesh colored these days.

"You are much too _old_ for her," Al insisted.

"Good God, she's not a college girl. And I'm not geriatric. And don't tell me you didn't have an eye on Savannah at one time. And she _is_ a college girl."

"But I am not old enough to join AARP!"

Daryl tossed the towel in the wastebasket and made a hasty retreat from the locker room, the door closing on the sound of their raised voices.

[*]

That night, as he sat on the love seat with Carol watching her choice of movie this time, she rubbed his shoulder and noted, "You're tense. Are you worried about the ceremony tomorrow?"

"Nah, not really. Ain't gonna be a lot of people. But Al and Henry are annoyin' the shit out of me, fightin' over Sasha."

Carol stopped rubbing and settled against him. He draped his arm around her. "It must be flattering, to have two men want you at the same time."

He peered down at her. "Like that an't never happened to you?"

"Not that I recall."

"Nah?" He took his arm off her shoulder and dropped it to his leg. "Me and Tobin?"

"I didn't know you wanted me."

"Like hell ya didn't," he muttered. "I kissed ya, didn't I?"

" _Months_ before. And then...nothing."

"There was kind of a lot goin' on," he reminded her.

She sighed. "How are we back to this again? I thought we talked about this, that you accepted my apology."

"I did. I do." He shook his head and let out a sigh that was half a growl. "Just wish...just wish we was together sooner, I guess."

She turned slightly and put a hand on his thigh. "We're together _now_." She leaned in and kissed him. Her mouth felt perfectly soft, and her tongue tasted of wild raspberries. And when she slid that hand slowly and teasingly from his thigh to the front of his pants, he moaned and forgot why he was ever jealous at all.

[*]

Instead of using the theater for the ceremony, they opted for the gardens. Little Ass Kicker toddled down the cobblestone "aisle," throwing flower petals like she was throwing hand grenades, and shouting, "Wee! Wee!"

Daryl and Carol were suppressing laughter by the time they were standing face to face before the pastor. Carol wore a simple white dress and held a bundle of wildflowers Daryl had plucked from a field not far outside the Kingdom. Their friends were standing, too, spread among the orange and green and yellow squash, smiling.

The couple exchanged traditional vows, and, when the time came, Rick handed Daryl the wedding rings Savannah had retrieved on her last supply run.

When the pastor said Daryl could kiss his bride, he didn't expect it to feel any different than he usually did when his lips pressed to hers. But he found himself shivering just a little with the thought that this woman was now no longer merely his friend nor even his lover but his _bride_. He pulled away to the whooping of their friends with a blush reddening his face from ear to ear.

Michonne and Rick signed their names in the Kingdom record book, beneath Daryl and Carol's own signatures and the date of their union. Carol tossed the bouquet as she made her retreat, and it fell in Maggie's hands, who had reached for it instinctively. Maggie looked down at the flowers with a puzzled expression. Henry smiled and said, "Who knows what the future holds. We huntsmen may stumble across Prince Charming in the Royal Forest this week and bring him back to you."

"Or I could just bring you one of my frogs," Al said. "I hear all it takes is a kiss from a beautiful princess."

Maggie chuckled.

[*]

The wedding was a small affair, Carol thought, but it was just right. Fully satisfied with the beautiful simplicity of the ceremony, she was not expecting to find chilled champagne and another collection of wildflowers in a vase in their apartment when they returned. Giddy from half a bottle of bubbly on semi-empty stomachs, they made love playfully. Daryl, in the afterglow, pulled her close and whispered, "My Carol, my bride."

The moon painted faint lines on the cool sheets that draped their warm bodies, and sleep overtook them almost simultaneously. Outside the school the light of the stars blazed down on the Kingdom, like a promise of peace.

 **THE END**


	51. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Glenn, Jr. slid forward on his stomach a little bit more until, like his friend Benji, he was hanging over the embankment just enough to look down on the gorgeous scene unraveling below. Judith rose up from beneath the clear stream of water and tossed back her long, brown hair. Droplets wound their way down her face and neck and dribbled into the enticing cleavage revealed by her red, bikini top.

"Holy shit," Glenn muttered.

Benji chuckled beside him. "That's the bathing suit Mr. Grimes said she had to give away."

"Shhh..." Glenn warned. "She's turning around. Holy shit. Look at – _Ow! Ow! Ow!_ " Something had seized him by the ear. Fingers. His earlobe twisted left until he got himself on his knees. In the stream below, Judith responded to the unexpected cry of pain by glancing up, spying them, and then scurrying ashore to grab her towel and sandals.

"Get up," came Mr. Dixon's rough, accented voice.

Benji leapt up and probably would have abandoned Glenn in flight if Mr. Dixon hadn't let go of Glenn's ear to grab the back of Benji's belt and jerk him back again. By now, Glenn had found his feet and was rubbing his ear with one hand. "That really hurt," he said.

"Yeah?" Mr. Dixon asked. "What the hell ya doin'? Peepin'? When she don't even know yer here?"

"She wasn't naked!" Benji said defensively.

"Gonna tell yer stepfather 'bout this," Mr. Dixon told Benji, and then give him a little shove in the ass with his boot. "Run on home to yer mama now."

Benji took off, and Glenn cowered when Mr. Dixon turned to him.

Glenn's mother had always told him that Mr. Dixon was a good man, someone she'd known since well before the Cure, someone she'd met shortly after the Collapse, someone she could _trust_. But he'd always scared the shit out of Glenn. There was something about those eyes – shifting regularly - like he was always expecting the undead to lurch out from around a tree any minute, and then he'd pull out that grizzly hunting kinife he always wore and stab it striaght in the head. That's how they used to kill those things, before the Cure. And Mr. Dixon was always walking around in those sleeveless shirts, too, his muscles bulging, as though to remind everyone he was fully capable of beating them into submission if ever the neccesity arose. And he talked in short, staccato sentences, like words had to be rationed and he couldn't be bothered to say too much to the likes of a kid.

And now he was looking Glenn, Jr. up and down, leisurely, with disdain curling the edge of his raw lip.

"Don't tell my mom," Glenn pleaded.

"Mhmhm," Mr. Dixon growled.

Glenn had no idea what that sound meant.

Mr. Dixon swung his finger and pointed back toward the Kingdom. "Ain't none of ya s'posed to be outside the gates after eight anyhow. Go on and get."

"Yes, sir," Glenn said, and scurried away.

"Hey," Mr. Dixon called after him. Glenn froze. "Tell my wife I'll be home in an hour. We's still huntin'."

"Yes, sir. I'll let Prime Minister Dixon know."

[*]

Al was sitting on a log across the stream when Daryl found him. The tall African's satchel was bursting with frogs. Now that the Kingdom had expanded six miles, the Royal Forest was only a short distance from its gates, and the farm land limited the need for wild game. But they still liked to hunt, to get away from the domestication,and to keep the freezers extra full. Besides, frog legs and bear rugs were for some strange reason coveted by the inhabitants of the Hilltop Terriotry, and the Kingdom could trade them for the grape wine and tobacco made there. Daryl had gotten used to the taste of that rich, fresh, Virginia chew, though it annoyed Carol to no end to watch him spit, and he had to do his chewing and spitting when he was away from home, and then brush his teeth extra hard when he got back. He made a weekly trip to the Hilltop Territory not only as a trade representative, but to see his niece. Savannah had moved there two years ago to shack up with some farmer. Daryl was surprised by her choice. He'd always expected her to fall for a knight or a supply runner, some bad ass killing machine, not a simple man of the earth who rarely ventured beyond his fields. But she seemed happy.

Daryl eased down on the log next to Al. "Know what I caught yer son and Glenn, Jr. doing?"

"Was Ben-oi peeping on Judith yet again?"

"Mhmhm."

Al chuckled. "Well...Do you remember being fourteen?"

"Mhmhm. Remember needin' a swift kick in my ass then, too."

"Well, I suppose you already gave him one?" Al asked.

"Needs to hear it from you. Rivka, too."

"Jakob would laugh if he knew, you know." Al smiled a little sadly. "You do not suppose he is frowning down on me from heaven, do you, because I took his wife?"

"Wouldn't say ya _took_ her," Daryl said. Al had helped to raise that kid for three years before Rivka so much as kissed him thank you. It was another three years before they were married.

"I do not think Jakob believed in heaven anyway," Al said.

The log creaked and they looked left to see Henry making his way out on it.

"Watch out, old man," Al shouted at him. "You are not as spry as you were at sixty-four!"

Henry carefully eased himself into a sitting position on the log. "Is that how you wish me Happy Birthday? You know, you're not far from the big 5-0 yourself."

"It's over half a decade away!" Al insisted. "How is your queen doing?" Sasha had been appointed by the Privy Council to replace King Ezekiel when he died of a sudden heart attack last year. By the time Sasha assumed the throne, the power of the king had already been limited. They'd had a Parliament for the last eight years, which consisted of two houses – an eight-person Privy Council (appointed by the king or, now, the queen) and the Commons, which consisted of sixteen representatives directly elected by all adult citizens of the Kingdom. All laws originated with the Parliament. As queen, Sasha had veto power, but her veto could be overturned by a three-fourths vote of the Parliament. "Wearing you out?"

"No, but my daughter is," Henry said. "Especially considering that Sasha is so royally busy that she now has me playing Mr. Mom half the time. How did we end up like this, gentlemen, beneath the heels of our wives?"

"Speak for yourself," Al said. "Rivka holds no political office, unlike your wives. And I am willing to bet Daryl is still the man of _his_ house. You give the orders, do you not?"

"Only in the bedroom," Daryl said, and the other two men laughed.

"What say we have a boy's night out here?" Henry ask. "Camp out. Don't head back? The world's been a bit boring since the Cure. I crave an adventure."

"I will have to go back and ask Rivka first," Al said.

Henry tsked and made a whipping motion with his hand.

"Yeah…better tell Carol, too," Daryl said. "She'll worry if I just don't show up."

"Et tu, brute?" Henry asked.

"Said _tell_ ," Daryl insisted, "not _ask_."

Except, when Daryl got back, Carol slid her arms around his neck, gave him a deep kiss, and inhaled his scent. "I like it when you're dirty," she said.

"Do not."

"Yeah, I kind of do," she confessed. "When you smell like the forest, I mean."

"Yeah?" He smiled and bent forward to nuzzle her neck. He nibbled her earlobe, at that particular spot he'd learned was especially sensitive. Her hiss sent the blood running straight down. "Ya like that?" he murmurred against her ear, and then plunged his tounge inside.

Carol gasped, grabbed his hand, and tugged him toward their bedroom.

"What we doin'?" he asked innocently as the red curtain parted.

She turned to him and began unbuckling his belt. "I was thinking we'd try page 59 tonight."

Daryl never did make it back to the Royal Forest for the camp out, and that was fine by him.

 **THE END**


End file.
